Kurt Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Kurt
Death carried his guitar like a shadow
They danced to the rotting bones
To the ringing awful bells
The stage was bright and black
Skelton angel flys for morning
Garden house and shot gun
Heroin and a suicide note
Now the world feels like ice
I guess some people have a hard time
Seattle rain cries like blue roses
Hey Kurt we really miss you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/13/2026 5:11:22 PM # rel_20260811T123139Z_a98d49b
