Several years ago, after reading John Ashbery's "Some Trees," I wrote the following poem, which is a direct imitation. The subject matter is mine, as is the negativity, but the form is more or less Ashbery's, with emphasis on enjambment and near rhymes.
And again, as though her brain
That maps the shades beyond it --
Her frustration becomes terrible,
Set in motion by the wind.
Out there, somewhere, where you live
I raise the sash, and she escapes,
We share the impulse, she
My will, and I am never coming back.