A Magnetic Personality


marc-antonizes.
Somehow it organizes
the mob—like so
much lead—into rank
and file. Somehow
it stands us
rabble up and makes
a row of men stiffen
or a rose of lead filings
arise. A rose is a rose
that arose, a magnetic
personality very
nearly said. She knew
how to draw
this one painter
to her place in Paris
and make him something
greater. (She knew
how to cube him.)
But the magnetic
can turn on
a dime and go
all red like a face
of a Rubik’s Cube.
In fact, its flip
side can repel what it
once sucked in—
all those friends,
Romans, countrymen,
cubists.
More Poems by Jason Guriel