The Ice Road

As little as you are and as little as I am and as a speck that’s unseen in the universe and with no safeguarded promise of living forever we act as though we were living forever in this accidental minute that comes from the deliberate bedtime ravings of centuries. They don’t tell you about that genealogical lineage at school now do they? A pathway from darkness to darkness but if a light of our own devising and the accumulative but constant of the candles of the universe. The sequins of a temporary explosive time that lasts longer and all of us combined but seems firmly tatooed against the sky like a permanent painting.

We crawl and push and jump and scream our way through our own universe. We know there’s a meaning to the universe but we also know it won’t do us any favours or answer our prayers.
Who pays again for that ancient accident in the Garden of Eden when you have Eden down the road or outside your window or in your home?

When we children did we not run around in cement tunnels like there was no tomorrow and lick lollypops as though there was nothing to please others with. With your gods eye we are a baby trapped within a baby trapped within a baby. How can you save for a rainy day that you do not know will come when whether it is with or without a celestial hand the rain is the paint of the world. What are we stick men and stick Women and creatures of clay for some other things desire or free people with our loves, our ethics, our lives and our lollypops which are ours.


The ice road was a prehistoric bridge over a place of danger and uncertainty in an Antarctic wonderland that scared you. This is the glacial highway you walked miles of pain and grief across. The ghosts of your life doing a Mexican wave of consolation were ever beneath your melting road. Who’s going to ferry you across this flood of tears now, without your road into the heart of your God?


Draw a dream together with the sowing machine of your imagination and then be happy to be bones and ash and stockpile your memories before you disappear forever. Do you remember the moment when you awoke from sleep and couldn’t remember a moment ago in the world where your eyes were shut? That’s what it would be like. Did your imagination go weeping on the real roadways that weren’t built out of ice and didn’t carry with them thousand year-old tales to warm the dying in winter? Would you rather be alive before you die or wait to be alive after you die? Or moving chess pieces over the frozen wilderness of your mind in anticipation of making a mistake or doing something right. Or make a frozen road melt and make it not a crossing to somewhere you cannot predict but merely a pool that you are swimming in and let those ghosts die.