screen

To be or Two be, a question,
Plato cries in his deep slumber.
Echoes of Two ring through verity, shrill;
Maya fades in its face.
Eyes of glass shatter and cut,
painful paradoxes of a Truth.

Seratonin bullets fly through every possibility,
blasting the infinite through the armor of the One.
A blackened screen can be and be, that dynamic void,
but what does it mean for Paul to be wrong?

How can Master Shake be empty,
but hold an infinite possibility?

The old Maoist addage: One be/
comes Two.