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.