If you’ve already had the immense pleasure of listening to the “Joy” episode of the show, then you know that before Mike Lawrence became a joke-slinger, he was balls deep in the world of spoken word poetry.

Yes, the rumors are true.  And we here at RISK! are pleased to offer you an exclusive treat you can get nowhere else: a window into the soul of the poet himself.  Yes, that’s right Jim.  Get ready to get joyful.

Here today we present to you a gem of Mike Lawrence’s self-proclaimed “bad poetry,” rife with moist paragraphs, leftover Chinese, and magnetic hips.  Prepare your tear ducts, spontaneous weeping may occur.

Take out menus

by Mike Lawrence

I loiter about in filthy first drafts
Fencing fierce doubt between moist paragraphs
A sailor’s delight tempts an alchemist’ wrath

Sugary bones, gossamer lips
A dusty brow, magnetic hips
A latter date, a sooner eclipse

A gravedigger’s nap, a salesman’s lunch
A quart of skim milk, sipping spiked punch
Hordevures duly devoured, numbers stand crunched

A Haitian fiesta, A Greenlander’s soiree
Losers catch up and relish, finders flee
Time traveling quandaries of leftover Chinese

Early to bed, eager to rise
Comfortable feet, sated eyes
A worldly wardrobe, A cunning disguise

Sundays in the park
Laughter in the dark
Kissing up sparks
Missing the mark

Fridays at the pool
Plugging in tools
Plucking off wool
Shattering rules

The particles falter, the angles aren’t right
Days that amaze are mauled overnight
A mutual answer agrees to a fight

Today’s prisons become yesterdays news
A path you walk on is one you choose
Sandals, barefoot, goulashes, or shoes?

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