I DO NOT REMEMBER THE FIRE

BUT I WAKE UP SMOKING

by Joshua Walker

I DO NOT REMEMBER THE FIRE BUT I WAKE UP SMOKING

My hands were not meant

 for prayer

 but they fold anyway

  not to God,

   but to gravity.

Ash collects

 in the hollows of my sleep,

  & I mouth

   names I have not earned.

I cough up

 a tooth

  that isn’t mine,

   toss it into the drain

    like a prophet

     throwing bones.

Memory is a liar

 I keep kissing.

  We burn

   so beautifully

    in the retelling.

Published November 25, 2025

Joshua Walker

Joshua Walker, known online as The Last Bard, writes glitch-bent, gutter-born poems from Oklahoma City with two unruly dogs and one barely functional laptop. His work’s been in Potomac Review, Solarpunk Magazine, and beyond. Diagnosed schizoaffective, spiritually fried, and creatively feral. He dreams of eggs, bacon, and well-trained ninjas. Nightmares include long walks on the beach and emotional stability. 

Find him on Bluesky @bigjosh84.bsky.social!

All creative work is available to stream and share on dogyard mag's podcast "The Bark at dogyard" on YouTube and Spotify <3