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
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
nepeteaa.bsky.social
🎣💥
January 19, 2026 at 10:41 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
eizebasa.baby
My daily routine:
[ ] Take me to the Internet. [ ] Tell me more about the Internet. [X] I’m not ready for the Internet.
January 16, 2026 at 6:12 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
dapowell.bsky.social
One must constantly prepare for sudden beauty.
January 16, 2026 at 5:01 AM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
This year I decided to gut all of my projects and revisions and rewrites are really making me miss workshop. (Yes, it’s feeling that desperate).
a man with a beard is smiling with the words writing is hard below him
ALT: a man with a beard is smiling with the words writing is hard below him
media.tenor.com
January 16, 2026 at 4:11 AM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
I'm so obsessed with the cleopatra and the asp tapestry in Carmilla's bedroom in the novel "Carmilla" and just looked back at it only to be confronted, again, by how that's barely a passing line of description. It always feels like it takes up so much more space to me.
January 15, 2026 at 8:28 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
ztul.bsky.social
Treating myself to some of the original "lost media" (eventful dreams I only hintingly remember upon waking)
January 14, 2026 at 7:18 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
ChatGPT / an LLM will never have angst over its writing and that’s why it will never be as good as you, a fallible human, wrapped around the coil of your own anxiety and heart muscle
January 5, 2026 at 9:27 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
onlypoemsmag.bsky.social
Fanny Howe
January 5, 2026 at 9:10 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
stinasdemons.com
Me, waking up this morning, to 2026:
David Lynch sitting in a chair with headphones and a bullhorn saying "Okay, let's try that again, but this time good."
January 1, 2026 at 2:11 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
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
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
erinvachon.bsky.social
We should all end 2025 early, bc that’s in the spirit of 2025.
January 1, 2026 at 12:04 AM
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
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
mobydickatsea.bsky.social
all at once a queer accident happened
December 30, 2025 at 1:47 PM
ebschnepp.bsky.social
So like how are y'all finding each other/community etc? Because I've done the normal things (and like my milage did vary w/ the whole presses and mags/mfa/etc thing) and kinda still just find myself sitting alone in my little hole poking at the keys. (might delete this later)
December 29, 2025 at 3:27 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
belgianboolean.bsky.social
December 25, 2025 at 10:00 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Fanny Howe
Into the forest I went walking—to get lost. I saw faces in the knots of trees, it was insane, and hands in branches, and everywhere names. Throughout the elms small birds shivered and sang in rhyme. I wanted to be air, or wind—to be at ease in outer space but in the world this was the case: Human was God’s secret name.
December 26, 2025 at 12:11 AM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
somewordslit.bsky.social
doing a special call for football pieces
THE SOME WORDS BIG GAME SPECIAL I used to run my own football forum. In the spirit of that, I want to publish some football stuff on the morning of the Super Bowl. IDK how many things I’ll publish. If I like, I’ll probably say yes. HOW TO SUBMIT: email me a piece + a bio to somewordslit@gmail.com DEADLINE: January 23rd, because I want these submitted before the conference championship games
December 23, 2025 at 10:32 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
juscarts.com
send your words to my journal!!
somewordslit.bsky.social Some Words @somewordslit.bsky.social · Dec 13
we have a few spots to fill still for January

want to be considered?

email one piece (poem/story/essay/whatever) & a bio to [email protected]

help us fill up January so we can then start working on filling up February
December 13, 2025 at 3:32 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
shrekromancer.gay
I've always dreamed of becoming a skeleton that serves environmental storytelling purposes one day
November 22, 2025 at 7:32 PM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
spammm.bsky.social
i'm not a hoarder, i'm not a slob, i'm just always prepared in case they want to make another one of those I Spy picture books
October 28, 2025 at 12:00 AM
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
lauraehall.bsky.social
They should invent a way out that isn't through
October 23, 2025 at 8:30 AM
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
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
onlypoemsmag.bsky.social
You will always run away with her. You will always lose her. You will always be a fool. You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear. You have already done all of this and will do it again.

— Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
October 21, 2025 at 5:03 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
Reposted by E.B. Schnepp
dapowell.bsky.social
Sometimes I say "the poem speaks for itself" and what I really mean is like one of those possessed puppets in a horror film.
October 15, 2025 at 12:58 PM