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.