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Bi Janus

Fever is another way to see the world,

a photo creased with edges curled,

pasted into a dusty journal,

sepia-tinted pulsing diurnal.

The evening hawks a fuzzy wooze,

a tipsy stupor nearly snooze,

that, uncensored, loves laugh-talking,

eyes too heavy for steady walking.

Fever, now a singular way to endure,

no longer a symptom in search of a cure.

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