Sidewise. Poem by Peter Berglind

What a virtue that this prospectus even persist,
but precarious as a totempole.
The resonance reminiscent of something purling.
If only a trombone could sound to this sequence,
would be a crumb of macabre,
but however give semblance.
I imagine a scenario of a storm in a teacup
and the experience of the core is abstract.
The question feels rabid at times
and as something falling.
The thought wander to something
which can be reminded of
faiths different falls of lottery.
Adrift, a frequent yodeler get into the picture.