Twentynine Palmstwo thousand elevena salty, old Marinetried to tell methe legendof the Joshua Treeshe spat brown juicefrom the shade intothe burning sandmuttered in hismidwest timbre:the trees only growat the gates of heaven and hell,and heaven is in Israel,can I borrow like ten bucks?looking back, thoughCalifornia was heavenand sometimes whenI’m drifting alongdusky Florida roads,I imaginethe twisted silhouettesof the Joshua Treesextending their handsin the place whereGod could hear me