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.