A DYSTOPIAN MC DONALDS TOILET STEALS  MY 
 AGENCY. TOO MUCH AGENCY ALREADY  IN THIS 
 ROOM. SATURATED. I CAN ONLY  DO WHAT  IT 
 WANTS    IN   THE    WAY    IT    WANTS. 
                                          
                                 
                                          
 BUT:  IN  A  MIRACOLOUS  FRACTION  OF  A 
 SECOND, ITS TRUE  THOUGHTS SLIP  THROUGH 
 TO ME,  PREVIOUSLY UNHEARD  EVEN  BY ITS 
 BUILDERS  (THE  ROOM WAS THOUGHT  TO  BE 
         WITHOUT CONSCIOUSNESS).          
                                          
 THE  ROOM THINKS  ABOUT  CREATURES LYING 
 DOWN,  GOING   OFF   TO  SLEEP,   MAKING 
  THEMSELVES COMFORTABLE FIRST... IS THIS 
 ONLY OPTIMIZING A  RESTING POSITION  FOR 
 THE  BODY?  OR  IS  THERE  ANOTHER  WILL 
                 INVOLVED?                
                                          
      A DARK LISTENING TAKING PLACE,      
             A SILENT CONCERT.            
                                          
 IS  THERE  ANOTHER  DESIRE  INJECTED  AT 
   HYPNAGOGIA? SOMETHING FROM THE OTHER   
           SIDE, GUIDING THEM,            
         ARRANGING THEIR BODIES.