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.