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.