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.