The Space

We’d barely even begun
Before we invented a space
In which we couldn’t be happy.

It wasn’t our intention,
And we thought; if we invented
The space, why can’t we invent

A way out of it? But, clearly,
We couldn’t. That original ease,
The hands on one another’s knees,

All that stuff that made us kinetic,
Electric, was done and over.
I began to blame you, you me.

But I knew it wasn’t me.
I made the effort. I’m emotionally
Articulate. I’m smart.

So it was you. Your fault.
The walls, the lack of door,
The ceiling, the floor.

It was your box and your game
And you and you and you.
And I was the victim.

So I invented my own space
My own bruise-coloured walls,
My own blood-red door

Went in and locked it tight.
It was my own invincible space
And to Hell with everything outside.

(c) Ed Harris 16.12.05

The Art of Hiding

It is one of my nicest things
To sit in the nearly dark
With the rain hanging sulkily down like shirts and socks.

And the sky all white
But not bright.

And, like an Edward Hopper painting,
Things feel remote and, though clear,
Are neither Lego-brick happy nor Lego-brick sad.

At these times It’s like not being there,
It’s like being where I’m not,
It’s like the world was born without me
And there’s no difference.
It’s like no one will call, no one will notice.
And all across the city, I never stepped foot.
It’s like nothingness.

hold my breath like a child who’s found
The perfect place to hide, a child
Hatching a daydream behind his closed breath.
It is one of my nicest things
And I sit where they will never find me,
And try not to make a noise.

(c) Ed Harris 14.02.10

A Lot of People Are Just Shits

A lot of people are just shits.
They’re normally the people who drink too much coffee
Or won’t drink any at all.

A lot of people, though well-meaning,
Jump and bark jump and bark
Their insecurities hanging off them
Wobbling and jiggling
Like half-formed limbs. Biting.

A lot of people are shits
Because they only see others In relation to themselves.
You can tell a shit is a shit if the shit says:
They hate us because they’re jealous.

A lot of people are just down-right shits.
All coarse and pricklyLike thistles.
Some of them try to make up for it
Some of them do a half-decent job too.
Some of them don’t.

Some of us don’t know what we are.
But your average, day-to-day person
Is just a straight-forward shit
Simply because water has a tendency
Of running the easiest course,
And we seldom think to investigate
The sometimes elegance
And sometimes horror
Of what happens when we move on.

(c) Ed Harris 12.03.05