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.