My English class is having a poetry competition and id like an opinion

[wasellajam]

Please let me know if there is anything i should improve :} 

Gunslinger’s Slumber
Smoky air with burnt tastes of death
fills the room with the bitter scent of gunpowder.
As easily seen in a fortune-teller’s tale,
it puts an old gunslinger’s mind uneasy.
Startling chambers, sheets and drapes unfold
where there are knots and static lightning.
Out of slumber, slight and unencumbered,
to draw at the sound of thunder.
There’s smoky air with burnt tastes of death
that fills the room with the bitter scent of gunpowder.
Now the gunslinger’s sly and superstitious.
He knows, as a prideful sinner,
to rely on a rosary and lie on the word.
The reverend’s clutch was grime as lye.
Quick and swift, let out six—
two holes above the gunslinger’s brim.
Stiff as a board they stand;
one awaits the other’s slumber.
Out of slumber, slight and unencumbered,
to draw at the sound of thunder.
Five to make a star, with one in the middle—
evenly a better shot.
One badge, one heart.
The gunslinger’s cocked hat bleeds.
A rodent with holes, a maiden shook,
and the pope left with gnashing teeth.
He laid back into his knotted sheet
and gnawed his wheat.
As his home filled with smoky air,
burnt tastes of death filled the room
with the bitter scent of gunpowder.

---

A few questions:

Are you workshopping this in class before the competition?

The gunslinger is an odd, seemingly old-fashioned topic, were you given a choice?

Here's what it looks like left justified. Do you have a preference? Do you find one easier to read than the other? What do you think center justified adds?

Gunslinger’s Slumber

Smoky air with burnt tastes of death
fills the room with the bitter scent of gunpowder.
As easily seen in a fortune-teller’s tale,
it puts an old gunslinger’s mind uneasy.
Startling chambers, sheets and drapes unfold
where there are knots and static lightning.
Out of slumber, slight and unencumbered,
to draw at the sound of thunder.
There’s smoky air with burnt tastes of death
that fills the room with the bitter scent of gunpowder.
Now the gunslinger’s sly and superstitious.
He knows, as a prideful sinner,
to rely on a rosary and lie on the word.
The reverend’s clutch was grime as lye.
Quick and swift, let out six—
two holes above the gunslinger’s brim.
Stiff as a board they stand;
one awaits the other’s slumber.
Out of slumber, slight and unencumbered,
to draw at the sound of thunder.
Five to make a star, with one in the middle—
evenly a better shot.
One badge, one heart.
The gunslinger’s cocked hat bleeds.
A rodent with holes, a maiden shook,
and the pope left with gnashing teeth.
He laid back into his knotted sheet
and gnawed his wheat.
As his home filled with smoky air,
burnt tastes of death filled the room
with the bitter scent of gunpowder.