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.

Essays Fiction Fragment Poetry

Poetry

Doing God

I wish, I were, I was impotent

While going around the skies

Finding a lost god

Poetry

After the crash

I like the way I'm restored

in a new window

firefoxed by the hounds

Poetry

Metaphorless

I’d like to fuck mountains in the ass

Forcing their lava subside in the liver

Cirrhotic and moonshinless

Poetry

of…

I wouldn't start the email with a barren dear or I hope this finds you well...

I want to be polite like a gentle summer rain after the drought

and lascivious like a baby born naturally, I want.

Poetry

Of late

I’m late

the century just passed by carrying the breathable

ticketless, on the red painted curb

Poetry

Unraped

Allow me the pain of a mortal

don't remove the street sign, the crosswalk to the other curb,

the mortgage or the ungrazable lawn of the pearly gates

Poetry

After a while

I used to love an animal of habit

a woman, a man, a child

myself

Poetry

The last chance, we rigged

America the beautiful,

at night &

in the hi-def tv. set

Poetry

Epoch

Allow me to breathe your last breath

as a still born

unknowing you

Essays

Zen Nazi

Have you seen those 'Zen Nazi' lately? You know, those who'd rather hug a tree instead of their child (most likely the kid who'll be a candidate to walk in the school with a…

Essays

Mourning, into the absurd

Like the powerless gazelle watching its calf being eviscerated ravenously by an insensitive feline, we mourn absurdly the perennial tragedy. Why? What monster could have committed…

Poetry

At dawn, again

Bayonets smothered by dew

Sighs coagulated by vagrant veins

hope for the sunshine, unseen

Poetry

At dawn

I’m late at dawn

Among the rotten dew

Near the slaughtered love, in sight

Poetry

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 docile

Essays

i Exile – Vol. 1

Well, now that iExile is back up and all the malicious intruders are out, we plan to make this online publication more accessible. The goal is that every quarter, beginning with…

Poetry

Virtual

the face I see, I dream

tomorrow I'd love

my fingertips forgot the longing for whispers

Poetry

Whispering deserter

Last night I deserted the war that was waged between

the entities

were left in the trenches they owned

Poetry

allow

Allow me to love you

my distant stranger

aside from mundane and

Essays

Bin Laden is dead. Long live the king.

The other day, the fear was murdered. Ambushed in the dark corner of the hope, the monster was slaughtered so we can reclaim ourselves from our evil twin that wiretapped and…

Poetry

At last

i unspoke
unsang and undreamed
i

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