A new poem. Pls. tell me if it's crappish! TX. xxx

But That’s My Limit

country bed full of weevils
we pick them out with a fork
stored in a silver teacup
the singing of the invisible horizon
she cracks open with her teeth

the moon hurries into the trees
like a quiet liquid tea

my Idaho cousins drive those tiny cattle
into a room full of spiders and old ladies
holding teabags in their mouths

the hippies of Idaho are on to us
they have strapped kicking calves
under the tea-stained floorboards of their jeeps

they are going to ask if we want a ride
and if we’ve drunk our tea
they are going to smile and toss
their shaggy red manes until we say yes

you can take us to the edge of town,
this clicking noise, this scalding tea

I’ll touch your dental plate
with the tea leaves
but that’s my limit