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.