Constellation Victoria’s Secret Dylan. Las Vegas Elvis. Toupéed Sinatra. Nose-lifted Jackson. Door-hung Hutchence. Five Emperors repose indolently, in Elysium, or Hell, or Nowhere, attended, foot and hand, by tattooed cherubim roadies. Four have nodded off, the fifth releases Sacred Wind. The gallery genuflects. Meanwhile, Somewhere, five children gaze out windows of midnight schoolrooms, lesson-bored, staring in awe at the star dome above, imagining how one day they might jigsaw, their glittering pieces, into Cassiopeia, Chamaeleon, Triangulum. Joe Dolce   Gingerbread House Two out of the past three nights have been therapy nights: shortcomings, character flaws, thorough analysis of every member…