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.