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.