Ron's Eulogy
By Tom Watts, Jan 13, 2007
My brother Ron blew his last paycheck on a three-day drunk and then shot himself in his car in a parking lot. Ron drove clear across town with a hipflask of whiskey and a .38 special on the passenger seat, right past two police cars and a wedding, weaving back and forth on the road. Ron was in love with a girl from the north, who was born in the same year that I was born. Ron could put his hands around her neck and touch his thumbs and fingers together
... (more)

How Many Minutes in an Hour?
By Justin Luera, Nov 29, 2006
"Hey man it's me. I was thinking about what we were talking about before. You know, the 5:55 thing. Anyway it's such a trip ‘cause it's like the last line of numbers within the nexus that we tell time that can be three of a kind. Like, it can be 4:44 or 2:22, but not 6:66. Isn't that weird? Those numbers man, it's like everything's connected... (more)

By Gaston Locanto, Jan 8, 2007

A Review of Fiorentino's Asthmatica (2005)
By Jason Jordan, Mar 28, 2007
Too often there are writers out there who write humor for humor’s sake, and frankly, if there’s no deeper meaning(s) to be gleaned, then I have trouble not dismissing such work.  It’s a bit different with form humor like itineraries, horoscopes, lists, FAQs, and whatnot, but with story humor, I want some insight.  Thankfully, Canada’s Jon Paul Fiorentino delivers both humor and insight in his short story collection Asthmatica, though he is mostly known for poetry.  The cover art is immediately endearing for those of us who have enjoyed the early albums from metal stalwarts Metallica, and the term itself is clarified in opener “I Wanna Be Your Alpha Male” and “Asthmatica” – the former detailing the author’s lawn mowing adventures despite his allergy to grass (not that kind of grass, mind you).  Before that, though, Fiorentino wields self-deprecating humor in the “Foreword,” which contains witty lines like “Hello, Dear Reader, and welcome to Asthmatica... (more)

Gone Forever
By Michael Cuglietta, Feb 4, 2007
where are all
the sad boys
the ones who
lock themselves
in their lonely
apartment buildings
the ones who
sit by themselves
at the bar
finishing every beer
from every glass
laid before them
smoking every cigarette
they can fit
in-between their
yellow finger tips

where are all
the lovelorn songs
blared through
a set of headphones
on a drunken
sentimental night
when you’re just too upset
to do anything else
but play that record
into your headphones

where are all
the lost girls
the ones who
slipped through
these finger tips
what happened to
that first kiss

when did I become the guy
who drank too much
who ate too many pills
who fell down
too many flights of stairs
when did my clothes
start reeking of
cigarette smoke
when did it become impossible
for me to see you
through these
salt water eyes

what happened to your body
where are your pink nipples
what happened to
the sex we used to have
the warm wetness
is gone forever

Cuglietta is a writer living in Tampa, Florida. His work appears in Opium, Zygote in My Coffee, Blow Back Magazine and The Beat.

One Day With The Shades Drawn
By Doug Draime, Jan 14, 2007
Slept till noon,
and only because of
constant urgings
from unknown, unseen friends,
got up to dance with
7 million angels
on the head of a pin. But,
though no fault of theirs (they could’ve
been more edifying), I fell off the pin,
falling back into the world
of cause and effect,
of illusions and agony...
where I ate a large bowl of puffed wheat,
then took a quick piss,
smoked a joint and
went back to bed.

Doug Draime's most recent book is Spiders And Madmen. He began publishing in the late 1960's while living in Los Angeles, becoming part of the notorious L.A. poetry scene of the latter 20th Century, and his work continues to appear in magazines, newspapers and online journals worldwide.


As it's our three-year anniversary (that is, we've been a magazine for three years now), we want to reward contributors and readers alike.

With that said, an anniversary contest is open to everyone.  The catch? You have to post a comment on our MySpace profile.

Once you do, you'll be entered into a drawing to win a prize-package filled with zines and books like Tell Christian I'm Sorry, Where Handstands Surprise Us, and Powering the Devil's Circus.

There'll be other surprises in there, too.  The winner will be announced in the next edition of decomP.

Post now and good luck!



Dumb Frogs, Sad Faces
By Shawn Misener, Dec 8, 2006
Dumb frogs
sad faces
vibrant yellows
wicked greens under the sea
waving at me
death by chain and heavy load
pain in the side
the swaying motion of grey tides
who care not
we care a lot they say
we all die someday
and it feels like the ocean
flipped to the ocean
singing twirls in fez caps
repetition of a single word
drown your ass out
send you back to where you ended
give or take a million years
the fish are your friends
your brain is your enemy
just escape and merge with color
and you'll arrive there someday
whether whole
or in pieces scattered over these acres
give it time
to fill the hole in soul
to collapse your memory
to breathe with your fingers
to keep one hologram as real.

Shawn Misener, 29, is a laid-off teacher in a declining urban center who enjoys accidentally staring, unconsciously twitching his toes, and breathing deeply without being aware of it.

Mosquito Mask
By Christian Ward, Dec 18, 2006
She slips on her mosquito mask
before we go out, feeling every
needle sink into her skin.

I try to ignore the redness,
her pain caused by ennui, staring
at the ficus in the restaurant

or at the couples talking into
their pasta. Love has been relegated
to a couple of body movements

made secretly under the table.
And then when we get home,
she takes it off and I get to taste

its poison, drinking it slowly to feel
her still writhing in my arms.

Christian Ward is a London based poet whose poetry can be seen in both print and online. His chapbook, The Grammarian and Other Poems, was released in October.