Materialistic Outrage

Take the collections of the collectors
Put them in a toaster
Melt them down and bake them
Crusted and feeble they fall against the sand
And when they come back for them
The people are lost and confused
Miserable and auto-tuned
So that their voices are fused
Non-Discernible from one to the other
Crying out in high pitched squeals
Foul play conducted on their play things
It makes a tantalizing cover story
When the shop worker finds his stamps are dust
When the cashier clamors on all fours for her ticket stubs
But it is not a nice ending to a bitter trial
But then again no one ever claimed it would be
What it is, is serendipitous
Claustrophobic calamities that no one cared to cart around
As one decade passed into the next
And all they had from then to now
Was a Hostess wrapper on the floor of their bathroom
A pointless reminder of a pointless artifact
Go on and conduct a search
Tally off on your log books all the people you grilled
Hollered off and knocked down for touching your shit
But don't be offended when it comes up nil
For you were the culprit
You killed the things you loved.