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.