Here's a poem with that sort of strangeness, or part of one: the prefatory poem to Susan Howe's Pythagorean Silence:
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxwe that were woodAt which you have to turn the page, and start the poem, summoned. Yum!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxwhen that a wide wood was
In a physical Universe playing with
Bark be my limbs my hair be leaf
Bride be my bow my lyre my quiver