Kelly Hoffer

Issue 53
Spring 2025

Kelly Hoffer

Racket (i)

law-abiding with an itch

for undoing

contrition

practicing clauses

in my sleep as to how to

be the most active, the least

passive, as to how to be such

as anything like

a vector

/

eligible, legible I

saying the what of

my want and the giving

what for to what I un-

want, heaving

am I one of the unserious

my impatience has come

unquiet

/

the rage in my little pretty

head arranged against

the ordering principle

scale, embarrassing

limbs intact, a docile rage, really

every violence

in my experience

theoretical except

what my money does

in its free time, what

cost

/

to be abstract, useful

allowance, an opportune

shiver in the concept

am I, aren’t we

how does it feel

to be included

ear an eraser to be

had in the head

in the hand a mirror

and what good

timing

/

looking for a light

that escapes politeness

offering to be un-

pleasing—

create a mark

-et?

no, thanks

be the boss of any

-thing except

my own sentence

read that

any way you want

/

don’t just

stand there

help

refusal get up

off the

ground

Racket (ii)

on a kick with repetition

tricked out in

new plumes of smoke

on a continent just

forming hard edges

in the mind—

hello, windfall, hello

toxic uptick

is this the good fruit, she asks,

is this the good labor?

the money on the grid

is a new brand of color

mirage-bright

cone-worthy

an object

I am overly

it

an ethic of making

one’s own luck stuck

fingering shine

trailing ribbons

call me a prize pig!

suck on a line

entertaining a denial

tone, how’s your solitaire

dance-card? care to

ask where I got hitched—

the moon sputters through

its sickly honey

/

where have you gone

having spent

the good time

no one gave you

where can I go where

my language would

not follow

Racket (iii)

painted false eyes

on warships

to turn them mammal

bite here! avoid the brains

of the operation

lashes strategic in their shade

we keep the monument

in working order

/

I’d be done with

this if I didn’t feel

done in by

that, that is

undone

on a loop

that, is

grains spilled on

the horizon of a

voice on a

high-wire

tight-hope

tongue-tuck

dip-trick

bad to feel all

the electric fences

of the body

(the ins and outs)

of a want

of too few

options

/

my most capable

concept

eyeless—

nimble when it comes

to things we think to kill

in the dark