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.