*Summer wanes. During this time of season, I consider poetry. Now I begin again by recasting a few poems from summers past. I will post them here as they stand. It should get things moving again.*The secret of life is life.Knowing we dieDoes not set us freeFreedom is not for us in this life.We cannot be other than we are.We pass our time with useless thingsAs if we live forever.It is our bodies doing this.Our minds know very well we die.But our bodies refuse to hear it.Our bodies desire the useless things.We go about our days in service to these dumb limbs Serving them endless amounts of what they desire But does not sustain themMaking them as comfortable as possible, as they demand itBecause they refuse to accept mortality.Our brilliant minds are filled with petty annoyance.That’s our lazy bodies talkingConstantly forcing us to confront ourselves in mirrorsSo we can see the damage we’re doing.Though we know love is the answer,We are faced with the hard factWe can only love and be loved to the degree we love ourselves.And we do not love ourselves.We are our bodies.And because they are such stupid brutesThey are utterly unlovable.I am good looking enough to know looks are worth nothingAnd wealthy enough to have figured out it has no value.I am intelligent and know I can never be smart enough.I see far enough to see an end.I see right through it.And like everything elseIt is nothing at all.