At times some of these poems felt longish, prosey, and I'm not qualified to comment on prosey, since I don't care much for it, but Johnson definitly inserts some intsnse verse (or should I say lyric?) into this stuff:
You are a silent empire of affection.
I suppose I'm free to junk/ these years, sell the wash of erosion and recovery
the cattle fed this blue, unbending, jealous winter.
I really like the poem "Thrity," which sort of seems like a poem of lists, nature lists, but again, inserted is this great stuff:
corners, stones grass, leaves, and tear the moment/ down the middle
tear the moment open, the sentence of/ your life falling in two
And from "Making Bail"
Twenty-five and already accused by an evolution/ whose genes move in blind waters, and whose children live/ as trembling machines, he leaves the bar with Jenny,/ as we all do, Jenny with the stoned smile and sleepy eyes.
The dirt has sent up souls who have no idea.
We hear second-hand voices