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.