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.