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.