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51 POEM BASED ON TWO CLAUSES IN COPLESTON’S HIstORY Of PHILOsOPHY to know firsthand that grass is green we have to experience grass; we have to observe it. My experienced grass, I watch you flourish your blades at the stars once in a while and see green Cossacks smiting blue backs, or Muti waving batons at the black suits and gowns that follow his arms, sawing with sticks and bows over the things they love, how they scrape and swoop. I don’t see Whitman’s green remembrancers or hieroglyphs or a thousand green titties and pricks tickling the breeze but the thousands of exclamation marks of David Hume marshaling his huge intelligence, repealing God and attacking the metaphysicians and their scriptures that take up so much shelf space and silence all science, having his nervous breakdown while his great essay “dropped stillborn from the press,” trying to find a patch of peace as inviting as you, cat-trod, dog-fouled, out my front window, after the trash passes, late Wednesday nights, the moon down. ...

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