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.