Did you know that the word inspiration means “to be filled with a holy breath”? How do I get god to do CPR on me? My prayers are vague these days. Sometimes they are just images, just a color, just a shape, just, just. My desires are blurry and visceral. Immediate. In my dreams I sell all my clothes, and then I look for more. My dreams are more specific. I can see your face, sharp. I can see mine too. I can see the devil dance through all the little details. In my dreams, I glow. In my dreams, I want. It’s dangerous to want, you know. Desire is a debt. You owe and owe and owe. But what if I like it here? What if I never want to be solvent? “In declaring our love we offer up our lack.” Lacan said that. It’s right there in his name. So I pray: for more lack, a deeper hole, a different shape, a new color. I pray to feel a holy breath on the back of my neck. That’s close enough.