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.