Bacon, Galileo, Descartes, Spinoza

Let's workshop this poem about whether a religion that prioritizes change, as well as skepticism toward even its own doctrine, deconstructs itself

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Bacon, Galileo, Descartes, Spinoza

Is it still religion if, stressing
how even their own sermons
might be the cope of critters

fallible and uneasy about death,
its priests praise those 
who find flaws in the doctrine

and who help tweak it
to echo new knowledge—
like that pushy dolphins do consent?

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