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.