The key to catching a god,
sprinkle little salt onto its tail.
But you gotta to be fast.
You have to drop the cage before it flies.
Soon’s you got it locked away,
you can carry it wherever it’s needed,
threaten to pull back the covercloth,
tell everyone what it would have said if would’ve talked
to them. But then
it only talks to you
of course.
Just don’t let it sing. Jesus
like a million years ago
got hold of a cage like that,
let one go.
Yanked away the covercloth, smashed open the door.
Couldn’t wait to get shed of these crazy salt
people.
But we
caught it again—caught it right way.
Stuffed it in a bright new cage. Kept a steady rain
of salt upon that ragged tail.
Hasn’t hardly sung once since.
