Your eyes flash like Fourth-of-July sparklers, headlights on a mountain road, sparks in a short-circuited toaster.

gleaming like a searchlight, Iowa moon, silver plate.

Gasps erupted from his nostrils like grouse from a thicket, schoolboys onto a recess yard, grease spatters from frying bacon.

Hung in the air like fart gas in an elevator, insecurity in a prom ballroom, guilt around a police lineup.

Whacked away under the desk like hail on a barn roof.

Poetry comes out of you like a pot of oatmeal boiling over.