Jealous, But Not For Station Poem by Andrew Prout IV

She laced the language with doubletalk.
At level best she meant the opposite of what she would say.
For example, she cut me down, but from a cross,
Despite telling her I sensed death most days.

She laced teh language with doubletalk
So she could explain the hints of an execution.
But her eyes betrayed teh angels when she murmered
That I could walk off with aimless revolution.

She laced teh language with doubletalk.
With I love you's, I don't need you's, then turned away.
I caught a glimpse of what it was worth
Until my pen cheated her subtle ways.

She laced teh language with doubletalk.
We made love in an unconventional combination of fame.
Inward peered upward toward infinity
As we drove our sweat deep into the shade.

We were destined, but to disperate contexts.
Or so I felt when I met him. Twice the man, I explained.
So I waited by a graveyard for my apparition to appear
To persuade her, not as much God, someday.

She laced the language with doubletalk.
I confessed my darkness, my hate, my shame.
She locked it in a locket before breaking my heart
For another, for others, for liberty's sake.

She laced teh language with doubletalk.
Spoke of courage, duty, and place.
Exuded class, though I'm not one to say,
From her toes to teh tip of her face.

She laced the language with doubletalk.
Crossed genders, sexuality, race.
Bent upward to a silly cloud. Spoke English,
Not music; never learned her place.

She laced teh language with doubletalk.
Started at a similarity, and then moved forward.
Painted sunshine with rain water,
Reversed fields at sunset; temred teh country a steward.

On a faded yellow screen is a broken wooden shack.
From my chair I see a black, burnt face
Teaching me to look up and say,
'This is the letter 'Q.' This is the letter 'A.''

She laced the language with doubletalk...