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.