Salt Crusted on Automotive Glass
Between me and the decadent majesty of the salmon-red cliffs of eastern Utah, a ghost landscape stands sentinel. A poem.
Between me and the decadent majesty of the salmon-red cliffs of eastern Utah, a ghost landscape stands sentinel. A poem.
Michael Libling writes like that affable stranger on the next barstool buying you drinks as he charms you with his stories. Next thing you’ve woken up in an ice bath without a kidney.
Congratulations to our grand prize winner, who successfully vaulted the competition before all the clues were in.
Mud thou art, and unto mud shalt thou return. Unless, that is, you're reckless enough to think you can transform yourself.
Win bragging rights, eternal glory, and semi-valuable prizes if you can puzzle out our mystery word in the next thirty days.
A homesick Mormon missionary embarks on an elaborate quest to get sent home without imperiling his soul. Easier said than done, on both counts.