The barrel burns and I burn and
my eyes chase the echo
that thunders
down the alley. I barely breathe

The cocksucker stumbles, clutches his arm
and turns the corner
while the barrel burns
and I listen for the sirens; I turn cleric

I hold the burning barrel to my chest
and I pray as I run, and I run
under
the streetlights that bathe me
the pang of nothingness
the smell of the city rotting
the deep wounds in concrete
my ears are swollen with blood
I hear my heart beat through them
I hear my lungs clutching the night air
in and out and in again
but I hear no sirens

The barrel cools and my legs
find a corner beside the bridge
as I kneel like a cleric, as I
bow my head to an empty sky

The barrel clatters to the cold concrete
away from the watch of the streetlights,
into the dark
that reaches its hand for me

My fingers roll the empty shell between them
lifting it to my nose
to smell the gunsmoke.

Franco Marcel just set his eviction notice on fire. He is currently a freelance writer and has been published both in print and online, including Getgo Magazine, The Centrifugal Eye, Deathtrip Dogs, LOSS magazine and Zygote In My Coffee. When not trying to keep a job in his hometown of Reading , Pennsylvania , he can be found trainhopping up and down the East Coast.