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.