Jukebox Machines

What style does this author use in her poem, and what is the hidden meaning within its syntax?
Here is a wonderfully poem…written by Eunice de Chazeau:Ode to a JukeboxOn Saturday, the day of no demand, Alex fondled in one hand a second beer, feeling a merehint of what evening might portend. In nearby booths were one or two like him, uncertain what they wished to do… sipping, seeking, something new. Opposite Alex, Tassie sat slant-eyed as a sleepy cat subliminally animate. The juke box waiting a customer’s prod riffled its red, riffled its red– silent but gorgeous as a god. Somewhere a coin clicked in. Mechanically clutched, the platter settled with plastic clatter. The velvet wheel began to spin the diamond point to mutter. Love is a lonesome urge and music its melancholy purge. In tumid monotone they merge. The listening ear by yearning bent gives gender to the voice ambivalent, baritone or alto swung supinebetween the banal cadence and relentless rhyme. Drop a coin! A dream is there that they who crave that they who Jukebox Coin Bank crave the iterate moan may sit and stare. One couple scarcely dancing–spent by the trumpet’s breathlessness–sways to the trombone’s bloated discontent. Alex and Tassie, seated yet, digress from boredom they invent to melodrama: syncopated stress. Low-lashed their eyes accuse; Wordless, their parting lips abuse.They play at love rejected and rehearse the blues. They take to drink, gulping their alcohol. They coax their fallas Eve and Adam did by clothing their desire with numbness over erotic fire. Drop a coin, ignite the flare The neon night the neon night, the neon night will twist the glare.Quivering like a switch-blade bared the snare-drum threatens; the oboe paired with the double bass ties knots in the beat, stops the box’s breath. Its bosom heatturns blue and red to a purple strangle with arteried green, a varicose tangle,a jungle that little by little ingests a spleen.Alex leaps to his feet alert like an animal in alarm Tassie can feel from his fingers the hurt as he holds her arm,but the pain is only a mute on the thin agitation of the violin.A cymbal releases the knot, red flowsthrough the saxophone and the jukebox glows like coal by a bellows invisibly fed. Alex and Tassie pose, then tread– they come together, insinuate a moment of mating, but brush-rattle fate slurs and deters them. They separate.Percussion pummeling monotone stifles the tune, stifles the tune, stifles the tune and twangs the bone.Alex and Tassie, soft of foot, try the floor with half a shuffle and puthands to shoulders, listening while a havoc of brasses splits the string of a cello. They leap, they poise and wringthemselves in the act of flight: divine contortion torn from the trite pant of color and groove-trapped sting: Two leopards in a dappled light.Then like an unprovoked assaultthe coin-consuming rhythms halt.Bodies freeze in a fierce gestalt that melts into mediocrity, blank-eyed as it was beforewhile the reek of stale intensityand the dust of silence settle to the floor.Alex and Tassie breathe and waitthe command of another brush-rattle fate while the box, the unmoved mover, sits multiple-hued and chromed, smug as the beloved lover,resplendent as the absolute, enthroned.
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Jukebox Coin Bank