Author
Jaia Papitz
124 works
Jaia Papitz is the founder and editor of iExile. A writer working across poetry, fiction, satire, and the unnamed forms between them, Papitz has published over 120 works on iExile since 2007. His writing moves through fracture, bureaucracy, longing, and the pressure of being alive inside language. He is the author of Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum (2026) and Voidward (2025), both from iExile Press.
A la …
Trust stone’s soul It will dance your mirage Closer & closer Silent to all mountaintops Myths Below the curb In the undrain Where the first step has no mirror Where…
Read More →A play, two play
The shooting stars came out early today Like home alone brats Just to play Sliding on broken souls Kicking thoughts over fences Picking up shattered breaths Into an incomplete puzzle…
Read More →A sigh
The glimpse and its belongings stopped I was afraid along were you the drop I felt, the rain you came for Cicanela
Read More →A town close to nowhere
From above everything seems close to nowhere. The steps, the dreams and hopes, the bus station or the bus itself seem to take us nowhere. The Globe itself seems to…
Read More →After a while
I used to love an animal of habit a woman, a man, a child myself as a child, as the invincible soldier of impunity as a previous, lighting cats &…
Read More →After the crash
I like the way I'm restored in a new window firefoxed by the hounds tomorrow in a new chromed tab axe picking a gold mine Then, Bing to the previous…
Read More →alenaciC
Beyond 6 ft., footless Ashed, coughlingly into the asmathic abyss Dieseled away Woodened shoveled Hitchhiking the mythical rust
Read More →allow
Allow me to love you my distant stranger aside from mundane and lips and intercourse building an untruthful trust of glimpses touched by the eyelids the should’ve could have been…
Read More →Allow me to introduce myself
Allow me to introduce myself: ↨ I am the unknown, cognitive to no one including myself in the allowing morning in between dream and duty in the ungrasping the what…
Read More →am
It’s six am The morning is about to unravel the day The next day, the other day This day I won’t be the daily man The milk man Of a…
Read More →Among it
Glancing, life was a burial procession I melted with the crowd toward the grave A yell from ground raped my toes Aware now, all other paces elsewhere go Immune, yet…
Read More →Anger fuse
Was an encounter I never thought I'd intersect voluntarily. And if I did, I would just let it go by like a shot of tequila. Undrunk. I am a simple…
Read More →As I go
Concrete roads, cemented Going only Left or right North and south In between Upless and downless Blocked by the touch In ramparts of hope by bullets of dreams Nomadnia of…
Read More →At dawn
I’m late at dawn Among the rotten dew Near the slaughtered love, in sight Glued on the hooves of the migrant herd Going with the flow Going The intersection of…
Read More →At dawn, again
Bayonets smothered by dew Sighs coagulated by vagrant veins hope for the sunshine, unseen Ramparts of anthems, of hymns a mumbling anthem drooling into the mud from a missing tongue…
Read More →At last
i unspoke unsang and undreamed i unblinded i walked i unstopped i untouched the unfathomed i
Read More →Atlas, tea, the mob.
Two years ago, sitting at my kitchen table and talking with a friend while sipping a cup of coffee and inhaling with nonchalance the all-damaging tobacco smoke, the idea of…
Read More →Aware
There's noting I could possibly tell you that you don't already know. There's nothing one can dream of that we didn't already grasp on to. So, what is left? Well,…
Read More →Been there, walked that
Laden with shoes His room was All worn From floor, onto the wall Until the immediate unreached The ceiling Upside-down Cigarette butt below the sole All his He looked at…
Read More →Before
I love life at the funeral In the morning, when the deceased is unknown, warm and still hated When the tax man is about to start his rounds, ruthless and…
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