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.