I guess I’m going to try again?
The January 1 Prompt at Writer’s Write. A poem, I suppose. No particular form, though all the lines are eight syllables. Sort of about waking up?
Title: Initiate
WC: 69
There’s a roll of thunder first.
(This is not a roll of thunder.)
What’s meant to be a fist slams down.
(Mere fingertips searching blindly.)
Eight minutes till the sonar ping.
(Not a thing beneath the surface.)
First excuse: the chill of morning.
(Sweat prickling, an answer. Unkind.)
What is it this time? Flame? Blacklight?
(Invisible ink instructions.)
A mission accepted. No choice.
(The message self-destructs: Start Here)
MTZQ Telecommuniculturates 