From the back cover:
Tell me when and I’ll come, should 1968 come again in your heart… But these days most kids and adults think 1968 is an ice-cream flavor or something.
These poems are set in the future, or perhaps an alternate past, as dispatches from a populist war.
As much as I long for revolution, unlike Lenin I don’t want to turn off the Beethoven so the killing can start.
So, turn on the Beethoven, or the Rammstein, and come with me to the front, where we’re killing the rich. All of the rich…