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.