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.