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.