Man Shot From A Cannon

I swallowed my December/ yellow bellied and naive,/ in foreign syrups.I can’t figure out/ how I leak from/each pore, each artery./It’s easy to recall/ a summer rain/sleet in winter/ much detested/ a shimmering street/full of sirens and rockets./The urge is to travel/as the sun erupts all day,/ the bargain of an opponent./I leave a l maze / for solar arms/ I’m feeble,/ I leave the ground, /spirit thrusting/a relic of its’ own departure.