this book of poems serves as an indictment of our cultural juxtaposition between money and self, each always within arms length of each other. threaded throughout are questions about value, pinning the worth we place on the technology and abstract value of commerce with things like sustainability (of our lifestyle as nature collapses, and of life itself, as we're confronted with dying mothers and our decaying social structure). but it doesn't punt on the near erotic pull of cash, noting rightly that the financial world is fetishistic and exists within or maybe creates the power structures that construct social value. we want money because it lubricates the lifestyle that we value even though it renders that lifestyle empty, a counterfactual observation that is nonetheless true and scary. PRETTY DARK STUFF.