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.