Into a roundabout of work, I have rushed,
I have followed the high-heels and shoe lifts
Swirling in the distance,
I’ve ridden bright-colored plastic horses
And got carried away.
I know that, in reality, those horses are still.
The poor-quality music
Whips my eardrums with its high-pitched sounds.
This music never stops.
Yet, in the motionless horses roundabout,
It does not go anywhere.
I don’t know hot to step out,
Swallowed by the to-ing and fro-ing
Along a fixed axis.
I had grasped on the idea passing by.
Look at me now,
Makeshift horse-rider,
Swagging on a toy.
FJ March 2022
Recueils / Participation
Telegram (Publications et Pratique)
Notes & Silence 
Work is, generally, a necessity to live. It is not an end in itself. It is well to keep that perspective.
Years ago, I told my employer I wanted a job, not a career. More recently when asked why I did not apply for promotion, I gave two reasons. The first, it was unlikely I would succeed. The second, I might succeed.
Work is the refuge of those who have nothing better to do (Oscar Wilde). It may be a necessity, but in perspective, you may find freedom from its more insidious shackles.
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