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.