A Solivagant's Shoes

The ladder gleams,  but never rustsit’s never met the soil. From polished heights,  they summon contracted ghosts,  specters in suits,  hollow hands that sign  but never build. Greed wears a tie,  apathy seals the deal.  We, the handlers,  catch the crumbs  of their lazy feasttardy briefs,  half-baked decks,  pixels that scream “we didn’t care.” You never want to call out the rot.  You want silence,  compliance,  a nod that costs us sleep. Are youyou hypocritethe one who preaches excellence  while outsourcing mediocrity? They say you’re vile.  They whisper bribes.  They count the favors  you never earned. But a corner of…