written version of poem:
This One Goes Out to You, Mr. Copland. You’re Welcome.
My feet are the best feet on the planet!
They have a strange unique smell
that is something like ammonia.
Also, there is a dark place by my ankle
like a cave whose true location changes
according to the flow of the river.
Every day I have strode vigorously
over driveways spik’d by sharpest gravel--
I could catch a baseball with my insoles.
And when I stretch my toes out, the tendons move
like hammers in a piano.
If there was a symphony
to correspond to this, it would sound
like Fanfare for the Common