JP

Author

Jaia Papitz

127 works

Jaia Papitz is the founder and sometimes editor of iExile. He writes poetry, essays, plays, and screenplays, with satire and fiction. He is the author of Bulă, or How We Invented Quantum (2026) and Voidward (2025), both from iExile Press. His photography work may be seen at photoExile.

Genres: Essays Fiction Fragment Poetry
Poetry

As I go

Concrete roads, cemented

Going only

Left or right North and south

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Poetry

alenaciC

Beyond 6 ft., footless
Ashed, coughlingly into the asmathic abyss
Dieseled away

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Poetry

Emot

To me, faggots are people

Niggers are people

to me, people who stone people

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Poetry

Spent

The time spent vehemently

between yesterday & tomorrow

stutzin'

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Poetry

P.h.d…

Write like you never wrote before

Chisel the unspelled

Into the unmoulding

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Poetry

napkin for the soul – stutz!

The beauty'n every leaf

I see

Its spawn in the undug below

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Poetry

Mortaling

Sex, the nirvana of plebe

Robeless, uninitiated

Moaning, careless of nightingale

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Poetry

Present-in-tense

Today, the metaphor will be hauled to the plaza

It served its time in the dungeons, with plebe

For a mindless crime

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Poetry

En Route

Toward me I depart

With unwalked steps

With steps I say, else won’t be said for now.

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Poetry

Grammar of the soul

I lived in a country where they conjugated the noun

Love

It had the past the present & the future

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Poetry

Coin toss

Be bold,

Die young

Choke the umbilical

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Poetry

Forwardless

She stood up & kissed me ravenously

Would you kiss me like 10% of that when I’m in the coffin, said I

Let me rot on the hill top

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Poetry

am

It’s six

am

The morning is about to unravel the day

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Poetry

poaching or the voting season

The mortals are voting their way out of it & Atlas keeps holding the pebble, on a rocky…

Zeus is inebriating the Mary while her son is playing on the cross.

Hit the ballot with a pin: Yes, No - Maybe isn't

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Poetry

End of…

If I were to come to the end of the world

Would you be there, waiting? Hungry? Unaware

That you are feeding your dying offspring with my tit

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Poetry

Passportless touch

On the curvy meadows

Lying

The early dew no longer appeared

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Poetry

Unfriend

I just unfriended myself

To enchant my detractors

Jubilating at my clicked self loath

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Poetry

The audience of the hope

I let myself go

from the ledge

I was born

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Poetry

To the other poet

I often dream

Of the poet

Whose qualms

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Poetry

Wombless

Once wombless

Death is upon like a testament

Marrow of fear

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