E.B. Schnepp
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ebschnepp.bsky.social
E.B. Schnepp
@ebschnepp.bsky.social
350 followers 240 following 140 posts
Poet, cryptid currently residing in Chicago, featured in Poetry Daily, work in Iron Horse, Nat. Brute, South Dakota Review, and more.

[email protected]

Chapbook: Blueberries Stain Like Blood
Available from Bottlecap Press Features
Posts Replies Media Videos
ebschnepp.bsky.social
"eating taco bell in the middle of a burger king drive thru just to feel something" in @upthestaircase.bsky.social
The art piece "Rathaus Münster 5 Filiz" by Nuala McEvoy that accompanied my poem (I'm not going to do this justice, I'm so sorry) it's a slightly abstract golden palace on a pink ground that slightly reflects it and a pixilated/dotted background eating taco bell in the middle of a burger king drive thru just to feel something I’m going to dive bars; collecting bathroom stall numbers, starting to not be joking when I tell you I’m going to start calling. I admit I’m bitter, wanting to skip the awkward “will you be my murder” part and go right to the couch, take out, tv flashing 90’s nostalgia. but, the only burrito here in months has been me; blanket wrapped, soggy in the middle. I’ve never been good at living, anxious on my best days, agoraphobic on my worst, but I could be tempted by cheese to unfurl—Sara says she’s never been hung over enough to eat taco bell and I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s drunk food, not hangover food, because in this case I too am unqualified, sober for all the wrong reasons. terrified of what it’d feel like to let the rubber bands under my skin snap. I stick to little rebellions, dipping chicken nuggets in fire sauce. every bad idea another in a series of intrusive thoughts. and this is no different. you see I’m not here for a good time, a long time, for the one that got away, long lost love — hello, no you don’t know me, but for an hour or two on a tuesday night I loved you forever, just thought you ought to know. tonight I’m grateful I’ll never wake up to another’s body, and this too is love— I love the idea of you so much I never want to startle awake to you, open eyed and blue. in every situation let there [still] be breath.
December 31, 2025 at 3:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
"you know some people never make it out of this scene" in @beestung.bsky.social beestungmag.com/issue23/one-...
[poem page 1] You know some people never make it out of this scene And I’m still in love with Billy Idol, though Billy Idol isn’t Billy Idol anymore, is Angel cosplaying as Spike in an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that Joss Whedon didn’t write because we all know he didn’t have the balls, couldn’t imagine love outside of who could hurt the worst, so irreparable they still woke cold sweat, still feeling hands, eyes. And Buffy the Vampire Slayer was never about Buffy the Vampire Slayer at all, it was about redeeming Giles. Redeeming Angel. Proving the thesis that the good guy got the girl in the end and when that didn’t sell cancelling the show. Hiring the Nice Guy to rewrite the story. Correct all the things that went wrong, there was no other choice. And I’m still in love with Billy Idol because Billy Idol isn’t Billy Idol anymore, Billy Idol is William Michael Albert Broad an Englishman who exists still, Peter Pan playing old favorites for those who still believe. I choose not to believe. Leave him frozen in 1982 and don’t look too close knowing he was a rockstar in 1982 and if I looked there’s bound to be plenty I can’t love him for. Leave him the last note of “White Wedding” hanging in the air and laugh at how nothing’s changed, he’s just the same as Greensleeves’ anonymous/lost/forgotten author, filled with rumors it was written by King Henry, the one with all the wives, for his second wife, a hard fought seduction. The original fuck boy anthem. And I’m still in love with Billy Idol, though Billy Idol isn’t Billy Idol literally speaking. I mean I love Billy Idol meaning every boy/girl/gender binary rejecting person in split kneed jeans and too many piercings, maybe an enviable bounty of tattoos, by which I mean more than the zero I, needle-phobic, can handle scratched into my skin. I love loud music echoing in my bones long after someone’s finally made me turn it down, kicked the old stereo’s cord out of it’s socket. My own small time rebellions, the ones some days I wish I wasn’t too afraid to try on my own skin. Or maybe I mean Billy Idol; as in I like to imagine he was the one my mother watched secretly on MTV, her own small rebellion, that she had small rebellions once. She enjoyed watching a man in eyeliner, leather growl something that could only charitably be called a love song. And I’m still in love with Billy Idol, though Billy Idol isn’t Billy Idol, by which I mean I envy Billy Idol the way everyone knew his name, his every Friday night hook-up, and now the top google hits for “Billy Idol” include “Whatever Happed To” and I too would like to vanish like that.
December 31, 2025 at 3:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
"If You're Hungry You Will Eat" in @ponderreview.bsky.social
The cover of Ponder Review Vol 9 Issue 1 A close up of a purple and white ombre'd flower's petals with water droplets [poem pt1] If You’re Hungry You Will Eat Everything was rotten, displayed in its finest furs, across counters slick with sweetness from ruptured tomato skins, bruised peaches. The blueberries though hadn’t burst, had only shrunk in on themselves, dried to small pebbles; sad signifiers of what they once had been, cascading over table edge and counter to pool on the floor below. Beyond all of this, beyond the scent—heavy and a wrong kind of sweetness that caught in the lungs, scratched along the throat—there was a scurrying. Rivers of ants flowing from fruit and their leavings to baseboard cracks, into ancient drywall, the spaces they made home on the boundaries of my own. When you’re hungry you will eat and any that get in the way of your open jaws, you will eat them too. In that place I lowered myself to my knees, [poem pt2] my mouth to all that was there and festering. Let the spoiled, the remnants, the my-eyes- were-bigger-than-my-mouth spill out and down to stain skin, mottle it red with what might have been strawberry turned muddied brown, a could-be blood splatter.
December 31, 2025 at 3:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
"her name was" in @fifthwheelpress.bsky.social Brainrot Anthology fifthwheelpress.com/anth7backend...
A graphic for the brainrot anthology her name was [redacted] record skip on the tip of my tongue but not the back of my mind or itching along my frontal cortex can’t be rendered into sound another skip a signifier missing its signified if a song skips enough consistently enough Pavlov darling you’ll startle into your own sound the first time you hear it right and that was always her a gap in the tooth your tongue tip always finds its way into yet’s rendered neutral expected through the power of familiarity call me call me call called white noise static scream something soothing and grating in turn lack needling in the middle of the night what was her name she must have one everyone has a name don’t they
December 31, 2025 at 3:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
"will the stars remember me in chicago" in South Dakota Review
The cover of South Dakota Review 59.3/59.4 "will the stars remember me in chicago" (the first page) will the stars remember me in chicago like tea leaves, I steep in the middle of city crossroads reading the neon, staring so deep into its glow I can see blurred shapes beyond. what’s written on the back of my own skull. some punk rock god, stutter-hipped and bass screamed, tattooed or carved or promised me something, buried it behind my eyelids, dared me to read it and here I am, now gambling in the road-dirt with my own future. naming my own god cock-tease come out and rapture me already too obscene with my exposed rib cage, count one too many to be this publicly perverse. it shouldn’t have to come to this, reading tarot, every card pull a bald faced promise of two weeks to true love and I flip off every deck. refuse to leave my studio until time runs out and I’m still lonely and unsure if I’m just too proud, too spiteful, or if I’m simply afraid it’s a lie; there are so many false tellings I’m in a stand off with the ancestors, leave my alter candles unlit for days at a time so we can all stagnate together "will the stars remember me in chicago" page 2 as every rune hits the table blank face up and I say fair enough to no one in particular.
December 31, 2025 at 3:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
"eurydice" in @roanokereview.bsky.social www.roanokereview.org/poetry2025/e...
eurydice there was no such thing as poetry until a woman in a field opened her throat to exclaim how beautiful a bumblebee / was perched on the webbing between her thumb / and index, the moment before she changed before him / from flower to threat and he did the only thing he could, / impaled himself on her, shredded himself for a hive of beloveds.
December 31, 2025 at 3:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
It's New Year's Eve! I did poetry this year! Here's some writing things I did (not in chronological order)

The big one -- MY CHAPBOOK CAME OUT! Find it at Bottlecap Press (linked in bio, I think it's on sale right now??!!)
The cover of my chapbook "blueberries stain like blood" it has a dark, red-specked background and a heraldry style crest on it. Have a sample poem from the chapbook! "Abandoned Bodies and Farmhouses" Abandoned Bodies and Farmhouses A fireplace stands solitary in a field on left side of the road. I swear driving home some nights I see smoke curl out its chimney, wonder who, what, warms their fingers in its blue blaze, if there’s a door I simply can’t see—this house, built for air, who do you shelter now? If I stopped, pressed tight to overgrown ditch cotton that bristles, that cuts to the tongue when you try to talk about it and the sky, painted over by corn—by the time it goldens, wilts for harvest, I’ll have forgotten the way a sky could be blue.
December 31, 2025 at 3:26 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Small good news in a bad time, my chapbook "Blueberries Stained Like Blood" (published by Bottlecap Press) can be bought from Women and Children First!
Cover of Blueberrie Stained Like Blood. Dark, speckled background with a heraldry-like sigil on the front.
October 22, 2025 at 9:00 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
So excited to have new work in South Dakota Review! Check out "will the stars remember me in chicago"
Contributor copies of South Dakota Review's combined 59.3 and 59.4 issue stacked and slightly askew on a slightly chipped wooden table. The cover is a zoom in of some kind of flower head poked into green a chainwire fence. The flower looks like maybe its missing larger petals, as some yellow ragged looking dried leaves or tattered petals can be seen around a more tightly compacted spikey rounded ball of petal. (I'm so sorry, this is a horrible explanation) (photo of the first page of the poem on the page) (note: the part in quotation marks is actually italicized) will the stars remember me in chicago like tea leaves I steep in the middle of city crossroads reading the neon, staring so deep into its glow I can see blurred shapes beyond. what's written on the back of my own skull. some punk rock god, stutter-hipped and bass screamed, tattooed or carved or promised me something, buried it behind my eyelids, dared me to read it and here I am, now gambling in the road-dirt with my own future. naming my own god "cock-tease come out and rapture me already" too obscene with my exposed rib care, count one too many to be this publically perverse. it shouldn't have come to this, reading tarot, every card pull a bald-faced promise of two weeks to true love and I flip off every deck. refuse to leave my studio until time runs out and I'm still lonely and unsure if I'm just too proud, too spiteful, or if I'm simply afraid it's a lie; there are so many false tellings I'm in a stand off with the ancestors, leaving my alter candles unlit for days at a time so we can all stagnate together (page 2 of the poem) as every rune hits the table blank face up and I say "fair enough to no one in particular.
October 16, 2025 at 3:45 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 8! Yesterday's book was Foreign Bodies by Kimiko Hahn
The cover of Foreign Bodies by Kimiko Hahn. Behind the white title text is a close up on a display like a museum one with small items in little squares. In the center is a tiny blue horse figurine, below it is a slightly rusty jack, to the left of the horse is another jack, to the top is what might be a very rusty part of a hinge, to the right is a circular silver object that might be a plate from a doll's dinner set, above the "plate" is tiny doll binoculars, below the plate is a bronze-ish circular object with a hole in the center that might be a washer of some type, top left is what looks like a small dog or cat that has moved out of place and is partially cut off, bottom left is what might be another jack.
August 9, 2025 at 5:32 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 7! Yesterday's book was I Feel Fine by Olivia Muenz
The cover of I Feel Fine by Olivia Muenz. A dark blue background with a series of gold semi circles/arches in the top left and bottom right corners and a solid but marbled gold circle in the middle that kind of resembles the moon.
August 8, 2025 at 5:52 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 6! Yesterday's book was The Essential June Jordan
The cover of The Essential June Jordan. The cover is primarily made up of a black and white photo of June Jordan, with the title running sideways along a thin margin on the right side.
August 7, 2025 at 2:19 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 5! Yesterday's book was Oculus by Sally Wen Mao
The cover of Oculus by Sally Wen Mao. It has a photo style cover of a woman taking a photo either of herself in a mirror or of the viewer, with the camera covering the majority of her face and a vase of white lilies in front of her.
August 6, 2025 at 4:19 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 4! Yesterday's book was was If Men, Then by Eliza Griswold
The cover of If Men, Then by Eliza Griswold. A pink cover with red text and slightly top of center a torn photograph of a woman in black and white with a fragment of another photo of a different woman layered over top of it, so it almost but not quite appears that the woman's face from below has her face finished by the one above. A collaged image.
August 5, 2025 at 6:04 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 3! Yesterday's book was Feeding the Ghosts by Rahul Mehta
The cover of Feeding the Ghosts by Rahul Mehta. It has a white background with different colored doodle-y squiggles and lines in different colors across it that texturally look like crayon or colored pencil.
August 4, 2025 at 3:19 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Day 2! Yesterday’s book was Anne Carson’s Men in the Off Hours!
The cover of Men in the Off Hours by Anne Carson. A warm black background with the ceramic figurine of two children in the foreground, one riding the other like a pony.
August 3, 2025 at 3:41 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
Yesterday was day 1 of the Sealey Challenge and I read a wonderful book that’s been sitting on my tbr pile for far too long, Phantom Pain Wings by Kim Hyesoon, translated by Don Mee Choi.
The cover of Phantom Pain Wings by Kim Hysoon, translated by Don Mee Choi. The cover is abstract, with a hot pink background with the impression of a bird in cream.
August 2, 2025 at 9:25 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
So excited to have work in @fifthwheelpress.bsky.social's new anthology, brain rot! fifthwheelpress.com/anths
brain rot anthology advertisement. a soft/faded, tie-dye background and the title "brain rot" in thick, black dripping font and "a fifth wheel press anthology," in the same font on the bottom, and in the middle is the full author list: Rosie Accola, Rayne Alarco, Lara Alonso Corona, stephanie anderson, sterling-elizabeth arcadia, Briana Armson, Gwen Aube, Emma L. Baker, Veronica Bennett, KM Bezner, tommy wyatt blake, Winter Chen, Alicia Chen, Sarah A Clemens, CLR Dore, Tracy Dubin, Clem Flowers, Nick Forbes, Natalie Gardner, Kimberly Gibson-Tran, Erika Gill, Katy Haas, Thomas Jackson, Jenna Jaco, Callie Jennings, Sarah Klein, BEE LB, dre levant, Josie Levin, Ash Maielle, Elizabeth R. McClellan, Odin Meadows, Graham Medric George, Fray Narte, Drew Nikonowiz, Karol Olesiak, Lawrence JK Parsons, Ena Pierce Lee, Ariana Rahman, Zoe Reay-Ellers, arushi (aera) rege, Romy Rhoads Ewing, Lorraine Schein, E.B. Schnepp, Travis Shosa, Elana Sichrovsky, Daniel Suárez Miranda, Blythe Thea, jp thorn, Maximillian Tucker, Erica Leslie Weidner, Caelyn G White, Luke Worthy, Karen Zheng
July 7, 2025 at 5:10 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
I was told I couldn’t bring home another cursed artifact/little guy, but jokes on them, it was already too late and he’s PERFECT.
Tiny pottery owl (I think?) with open mouth kinda like he’s distressed squawking at the world, which… same) and red rhinestone eyes.
July 5, 2025 at 6:24 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
A white box (one of three from a recurring puzzle in Blue Prince) on a table. On its lid is the statement “this statement is of no help at all.
July 4, 2025 at 10:08 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
My chapbook author copies for Blueberries Stain Like Blood (out from bottlecap press) arrived! They’re so amazing and lovely and now I need to take them places and I couldn’t be more thrilled!
A pic of me! Or my face popping up with the cover of my chapbook (Blueberries Stain Like Blood) (described and see in in full in the next img) with twinkle lights behind me. Cover of my chapbook “Blueberries Stain Like Blood” from Bottlecap Press. The cover is abstract with a dark background flecked with red specks, and a heraldry style central image with two birds flanking a helm with red and cream wings rising behind it. The birds are holding up a stylized frame in their talons and inside is a deep blue textured like a wave or flower petals. A poem from the chapbook “Blueberries Stain Like Blood” (given in full below) Abandoned Bodies and Farmhouses A fireplace stands solitary in a field on the left side of the road. I swear driving home some nights I see smoke curl out of its chimney, wonder who, what warms their fingers in its blue blaze, if there’s a door I simply can’t see—this house built for air, who do you shelter now? If I stopped, pressed tight to overgrown ditch cotton that bristles, that cuts to the tongue when you try to talk about it and the sky, painted over by corn— by the time it goldens, wilts for harvest, I’ll have forgotten the way a sky could be blue.
July 1, 2025 at 5:50 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
I have a new poem in Ponder Review!
A photo of the new issue of Ponder Review (vol. 9 issue 1). The cover is of a close zoom on a purple and white blossomed flower and its green leaves, with water droplets on it. Pt1 of The poem "If You're Hungry You Will Eat" by E.B. Schnepp (me!) (it got broken down across a few images since it wouldn't fit) If You're Hungry You Will Eat Everything was rotten, displayed in its finest furs, across counters slick with sweetness from ruptured tomato skins, bruised peaches. The blueberries though hadn't burst, had only shrunk in on themselves, dried to small pebbles-- sad signifiers of what they once had been, cascading over table edge and counter to pool on the floor below. Beyond all of this, beyond the scent-- heavy and a wrong kind of sweetness that caught in the lungs, scratched along the throat -- there was a scurrying. (poem cont. in next image!) Pt2 of The poem "If You're Hungry You Will Eat" by E.B. Schnepp (me!) (it got broken down across a few images since it wouldn't fit) Rivers of ants flowing from fruit and their leavings to baseboard cracks, into ancient drywall, the spaces they made home on the boundaries of my own. When you're hungry you will eat and any that get in the way of your open jaws, you will eat them too. In that place I lowered myself to my knees, my mouth to all that was there and festering. Let the spoiled, the remnants, the my-eyes- (poem cont. in the next image!) Pt3 of The poem "If You're Hungry You Will Eat" by E.B. Schnepp (me!) (it got broken down across a few images since it wouldn't fit) were-bigger-than-my-mouth spill out and down to stain skin, mottle it red with what might have been strawberry turned muddied brown, a could-be blood splatter.
June 23, 2025 at 6:51 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
My new chapbook, Blueberries Stain Like Blood, is out now with Bottlecap Press!

bottlecap.press/collections/...
Cover image for my (E.B. Schnepp's) chapbook "Blueberries Stain Like Blood" from Bottlecap Press. The cover is abstract with a dark background with red specks, and a heraldry style icon in the center with birds flanking a "helm" like image with red and cream "wing" type imagery rising from behind it. There's a frame being held by the birds as part of it, with a deep blue inside it almost like a wave or layered flower petals, more texture than a define-able image. A text image for a poem from the collection, "Abandoned Bodies and Farmhouses" (the full text for that is below, and in the image it's simply the text on a deep red background with an astrisk above and below it) Abandoned Bodies and Farmhouses A fireplace stands solitary in a field on left side of the road. I swear driving home some nights I see smoke curl out its chimney, wonder who, what, warms their fingers in its blue blaze, if there’s a door I simply can’t see—this house, built for air, who do you shelter now? If I stopped, pressed tight to overgrown ditch cotton that bristles, that cuts to the tongue when you try to talk about it and the sky, painted over by corn—by the time it goldens, wilts for harvest, I’ll have forgotten the way a sky could be blue.
April 4, 2025 at 7:27 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
So surprise? My chapbook Blueberries Stain Like Blood is out with Bottlecap Press Features now! bottlecap.press/products/blu...
Skeleton (Hubert) in a long brown wig and retro dress sitting on a kitchen floor covered in flour, egg shell, and fruit bits, with a mixing bowl of something. Text on the img reads "I cooked up a surprise! I've got a chapbook out now!"
April 4, 2025 at 1:23 AM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
So excited to be in the new issue of SLAB!
November 19, 2024 at 7:55 PM