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.