Laundromat
by
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Blue-tinted soap bubbles Like a world of sordid dye, Gold caliph buttons make The fingers dangle slim, some Box of granules, white and puff, It’s old detergent—trés good stuff, That washed the laundry in a mess, While we danced to disco, Porgy And Bess. Some mix of show tunes Blinking nil, do think the milk duds Scraped a spill, some splotches Of that crystal ink, make glamorous Togs now start to shrink, and Svrink heart poses will see You by, so do your laundry, Why don’t you try.
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About the Book
These poems are written with a jazzy bee-bop melody, a secretive voice, a phalanx of sweet words and silky resonance. Lounge writing with a taboo slant in which poetry becomes seductive as the weaver of the word. A student from the NYU poetry cadre, Chang makes the art of dressing up a mystical rite full of charms. A real mind blower full of hi-jinks and bluesy metaphor for the sephoric savante-garde.