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.