Door is not door when ajar.
That is how we rattle jokes.

Now we rattle a few bones.
Bones are inward laughter,

The ghost bones from fear
As they dance from death.

It is how we rattled poems.
Poems rattled in our bones

We are at the age of terror,
With a fear lurking in liver

When rattle of fear sounds
Much like  bone of laughter.

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