Episode X of "Election '08," a series of spoken word works by Mike Varley covering the 2008 campaign. A new entry every Sunday with free mp3 downloads at mikevarley.com.

On the Economy

I cracked a little today when we packed up our house. I took the deep green shutters with the crescent moons off the front windows because they're ours and the bank can't have them. People tell me lonely footprints means God's carrying you but why he'd take us through this neighborhood I can't understand.

At night, I do inventory in the lumber aisle and count my lives gone by. When I close my eyes, the smell reminds me of my Uncle's industry and the porch swing he devised. These are truly stolen moments, for recently they've taken to calling thoughts "cigarette breaks."

The best three hours and fifteen minutes of my day end to the sound of fake nature on the radio. I hold my wife till she's forced not to shower, her skin in large measure her dowry. Our naked communion speaks sleepy sonatas. Our naked love-aching must do.

By day, I paint. I paint white walls whiter, tan walls tanner and gray walls the eyes of my sighs. Most people think there ain't no trick to what I do. Most people ain't never watched paint dry with thoughts of an unsound mind.

My brother lives in the deceased recesses of the American motive, trading pints of blood on margin. The S&P is his horoscope and the FED his baiting dealer. I'd send him a post card if I thought it'd impress him, but the Dow broke its promise and he's probably dead.

On the bus, I wish dreams from air. I wish there were a land where everyone would have homes. The whole world one perfect, uninterrupted neighborhood, every street a lane, every tree old growth and regal, every neighbor your friend and solemn ally. I wish I could go to banks where I've had a savings account since I was five, where I could open an account for my son, where I could save for his education, where you might catch a gust of reflection at your banker's evening wake.

A bank where I could walk in and pay my mortga