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.