trouble with paradise

Scott Patrick Conrad's heart in a helicopter Towards Reno, to save some teenager from becoming a ghost like him Armpit sweat stains on a collared shirt cut open When sidewalks end and for-sale signs begin Where your favorite bar is your favorite film a And the regulars are standing still The trouble with paradise is the alcohol in twitching twilight The bumbling, huffing sharpies, behind basement doors and bales of barley Charred jackets steaming in the rain Next to photo albums, leaking kegs, cinders wriggling Through linen sheets, family crests, the cupboards that the moths infest The bible and the drum, the sickle and his son Scott Ferguson McRae is wafting through trumpets in Tucson On rafters above his parents observing a picture show Armpit sweat stains on his father's shirt unbuttoned Where teardrops fall, his aching unresolved When credits crawl and the curtain calls With regulars standing still The trouble with paradise is it's televised through twinkling wildfires Like lullabies or seeping wax, the eyeliner runs while the limbs collapse Charred axles steaming in the rain Next to vinyl records, dog collars, heirlooms glistening Through rubble and rapture, the subtle opening of an aperture The bible and the drum, the sickle and his son