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.