Also...

That piece of skin (

hanging off my shin)

That the brick wall sheared away

Wags like a fatty gray sail.

I lift it high, translucent pale,

Rip it clean, and end its sway.

But I worry about the deep white layer,

So I massage all 'round its boundaries

Until that hole fills red with care

And down my leg, in abundance, bleeds.

I look at the brick,

Skin and hair on its lip,

And wipe so the neighboring youths

Won't find that gore before a few other truths—

(they're too fresh yet to begin

mapping lessons from scars 'cross their skin;

too brief to look past vicious

and see that losses make

              here-things precious;

too new to feel humble,

kneeling by a wall

        that will also crumble).