I brought out my deadest pan
Showed it to the biggest man
Reeled him in and kissed his hand
Then pressed it to my deadest pan.

He drew back and shouted, just didn’t understand
Why it burnt, why it stank upon his hand
With such putrid ferocity, with such vigor
When on the exterior it made such a pretty figure.

Well I laughed a bitter laugh, but never moved my tongue
My eyes remained as cool as a Thursday
(As steady as shoes).

My stoic eyelids
Flicker and crush
The dreams of the biggest man
Into finest dust.