Troubles come in new and changing ways, but
Character defects are forever.
I can always count on mine to provide
Endless variations of heartache arranged around
The same themes.

From the outside, of course, other people's faults are
Easily fixable: we should just quit doing
The same dumb stuff over and over.
But we don't quit doing these things, or at least,
I don't. 

There's nothing quite so alarming
As realizing the degree to which
Habit rule ones life:
We shake our fists at would-be external overlords,
While the ones within us
Move us around like marionettes.

But in our occasional wakeful moments, we ask
'Are we back here again?'
And can, at least maybe,
Erode the power of our proclivities
Through the cleansing power of
Laughing at our own foolishness.