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.