mason lai poem – Mason Lai

Neatly packaged

April 6, 2026April 6, 2026 Mason LaiLeave a comment

The critics build their little forts,
preparing their beige, bland retorts
which, of course, they’ll use
to keep you neatly packaged
for shipping, easily managed.

They step back,
and as it should,
the scale makes them dizzy.

But then they forget to look closer,
where we find ourselves busy.

They forget that the world was built
for one simple, brave desire;
to tend our small, very human fires.

Aka our mission,
the whole damn composition,
split into manageable parts.

Why bother with golden schemes?
The world was built for one messy, brave,
and ridiculous dream.
Multiplied.

To stand in the shadow of the infinite night.
And be, for a moment,
absurdly bright.

Patch of lovely grass (sonnet version 1)

March 27, 2026April 6, 2026 Mason LaiLeave a comment

Your pulse is just a high-stakes, predatory loan,
A strobe light’s frantic glitch
In a collapsing pit, so leave the "shoulds" alone—
Those leaden boots that make your spirit itch.
Stop watering the plastic, look at the crowd:
A billion ghosts all clutching
Their leaking bowls, wondering (quiet or loud)
Where the soup went, while they were judging.
The soil is a blind and neutral gut
That mulches down the CEO and the creep,
The Great, the Who?, the "I-wanted-to-but."
They're all the same shade of clover, six feet deep.
F*ck it, the lease on your breath is ending. Don’t be pinned.
Go graffiti your name on a passing gust of wind.

A patch of manic, lovely grass

March 22, 2026April 6, 2026 Mason LaiLeave a comment

Your pulse, a high-interest loan
of carbon and spit;
A frantic strobe light
in a collapsing pit.

Kick off the shoulds,
those leaden, orthopedic boots.
Stop watering your plastic at the roots.

Why offer a no
vacuum-sealed and dried
To a joy that’s finally hitched a ride?

Among a billion ghosts
in rented skin,
Clutching leaking bowls,
still wondering where the soup has been.

And the soil, yes,
a blind, impartial, gluttonous gut;
Digesting the Great and the Who? and the What?
It mulches throne and beggar’s cup
Into a patch of manic, lovely grass.

Don’t worry,
the prince and the fool
are the same shade of clover,
Once the lease on their breathing
is officially over.

Take a breath, take a breath;
Life’s the only thing that’s not like death.

Graffiti your name on a passing gust of wind;
The only sin is staying neatly pinned.

Ignite the ego, the hemp,
the existential spark
(Light a match under your own backside
if your world seems too dark);

It’s too cramped (ouch!) in the coffin
to start playing the part.

One day

February 25, 2026February 25, 2026 Mason LaiLeave a comment

You’re going to die one day,
so start acting in such a way
that you don’t have to apologize
when you’re having fun, even if there are a million eyes

on you.
They are people too.
You’re going to die one day
so do me a favor, okay?

Live, fight,
Take your canvas, your candle and burn it f***ing bright.
So that no matter what they say
the path that you take, you can call your way.

Who doesn’t love someone with a little fire?
Rub them wrong, let them declare you the fool.
Trust me, you can afford to raise your chin a little higher.

the infinity bucket

January 15, 2026January 15, 2026 Mason LaiLeave a comment


i give,
you take.
they take
and blame gravity.

i give,
but i don’t lose,
not yet.

it comes from a bucket
i don’t look into.
last time i did
there was less of me
than before
and i chose not to notice.

my hands bruise.
the handle bites.
i switch arms.
i tell myself
this is what strength looks like.

i keep pouring-
everything,
everything.
until the word is hollow
and echoes when i say it.

i give
because stopping would admit
there is a bottom,
and i have been standing
just past it.
teetering.

i used to count
to prove it was endless.
now i don’t
in case it isn’t.

so i give,
give.

i don’t check
what’s left.