Sometimes,The Wheels Just Come Off

The wheels just come off, sometimes, seen in the right — or wrong frame of mind. The world feels like an incredibly intricate, interlinked pool table. In one such frame of mind, I got the idea for this poem.

Sometimes, the wheels just come off
PSD flunks on bikes cruising sidewalks, running stop signs and generally acting as if no traffic rules apply. PSD officers watch and do nothing.

Sometimes, the wheels just come off

Out of infinite stories, one rises from the veil 
exiting a library rich with stories.
A  few telescope through webs of time 
gossamer of real and unreal 
interstices of history’s reference points 
the rest unavailable books on endless shelves

They are there.
We are here.

Standard operating procedure:
Look for meaning in everything.
Anything can be meaningless 
Accident usurps a moment 
We scramble, as if trapped, 
only meaning can release us.
We think hard about it
Myths make a bed for meaning.

But sometimes, you know, the wheels just come off
You hit the road wrong, 
you’re the sorry asshole struck by lightning
Chemicals flip a switch that 
trips you far back into another time, 
breaks through and sticks.

The continuum strings through our lives
all our lives 
the different names and circumstances 
the different roles

In what next transition will we intersect again 
in what odd next universe, strangers at one?

David Stone is a New York City based writer whose most recent book is 21 Poems. He also wrote a memoir: The Witch Next Door,

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