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.