I name this style: Frantic Sequential Haiku!
Seriously though, I note that Ron Hull says: 'I don't get it'. And I can see why! This poem is a rather obtuse metaphor which may mean many things, so let's begin with the key idea - the Abyss. In magick, and particularly Aleister Crowley's magick, the Abyss is the gulf between normal and super-normal consciousness, guarded by the Demon of Dispersion Choronzon. If one enters the Abyss unprepared, one is dissipated, and this is what I feel modern life is doing to us, wrapping us in convention until it replaces our very souls with nothingness. We become hollow men and women, always wondering what Hell is, even as we live through it in our increasingly meaningless lives. Hell is not a place you see, it is a condition. Jasmin Seiler does seem to 'get' it because he has looked into the dark from his own viewpoint. In a nutshell then, immersion in our daily stupidities turns all of us into mental mannequins, corporate robots who yet long for meaningful lives and whose existences are tinged by a vague yet constant sense of regret for the lives we never had.