I should have posed for more pictures

forgetting a lot of the road

behind me

memories flash at random

triggered by smells and sights

its like diving headfirst

into a library of auto biographies

all about this life

i suffer through the paper cuts

before final impact

and its a soft bed of poppies

and I am Dorothy arriving in oz

at odds with the world around me

in jeans instead of a skirt

looking for brains, bravery and bravado

while searching for a way home

I woke up from hurricanes

feeling the pain

strain the structure

till it buckles

and it is forced to rebuild

we are living monuments

and relics

chipping away at our epitaphs

that turn to be a few short lines

in the local gazette, times , daily or weekly

but only once

deserving of only a blurb

and a picture

I wish I posed for more photographs

so they would know

who I am

or was