This is what I'm talking about. There are better examples, but this is one I have on hand.

I Watched
--Frank O'Hara

I watched an armory combing its bronze bricks
and in the sky there were glistening rails of milk.
Where had the swan gone, the one with the lame back?

  Now mounting the steps
  I enter my new home full
  of grey radiators and glass
  ashtrays full of wool.

Aginst the winter I must get a samovar
embroidered with basil leaves and Ukranian mottos
to the distant sound of wings, painfully anti-wind,

  a little bit of blue
  summer air will come back
  as the steam chuckles in
  the monster's steamy attack

and I'll be happy here and happy there, full
of tea and tears. I don't suppose I'll ever get
to Italy, but I have the terrible tundra at least.

  My home home will be full
  of wood, roots and the like,
  while I pace in a turtleneck
  sweater, repairing my bike.

I watched the palisades shivering in the snow
of my face, which had grown preternaturally pure.
Once I destroyed a man's idea of himself to have him.

  If I'd had a samovar then
  I'd have made him tea
  and as hyacinths grow from
  a pot he would love me.

and my charming room of tea cosies full of dirt
which is why I must travel, to collect the leaves.
O my enormous piano, you are not like being outdoors

  though it is cold and you
  are made of fire and wood!
  I lift your lid and mountains
  return, that I am good.

The stars blink like a hairnet that was dropped
on a seat and now it is lying in the alley behind
the theater where my play is echoed by dying voices.

  I am really a woodcarver
  and my words are love
  which willfully parades in
  its room, refusing to move.