there will be no greater joy
than to see the constellations in your eyes
fall apart
like shredded tendons.

and there will be no finer victory
than the one that will come
when you realize that the planets do not orbit around you,
and that you are, in fact, no better
than the rest of us,
in this meaningless assembly line
around the sun.

there will be no happier moment
than when it occurs to you
that you are not as high and mighty as you believe yourself to be,
and that you will never
dance among the stars.

there will be no greater joy
than to see the paint start to chip
off of your poorly painted universe
that is your feeble facade.

(a.m.)