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.