#E.B. Schnepp

[missedstations]

"the only colors left were blood and earth and still I dreamed of water" - E.B. Schnepp

memory is what I tell myself I buried in the backyard as a child, but it wasn't. a toy pirate chest filled with stones so smooth I couldn't help but call them treasure. The word river spoken  with twice the reverence of god. I could see the river, it was there and reed-lined and living, a thing I could drown in if I tried hard enough, or didn't. Those were not the banks a person could grow older on, just more tired. When I say I never had the energy to swim to the other side what I mean is I tried, I really did, but I only slipped under it, saw what was beneath and hidden in the silt. drank the water, the soil, and what was in that too. I won't say I drowned, that feels too final, but I haven't stopped glowing since.

[bottlecap-press]

From E.B. Schnepp's chapbook, Blueberries Stain Like Blood, available from Bottlecap Press!

[voicedwords]

Deer Lord / Dear Lord, E.B. Schnepp

[beestungmag]

"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" —E.B. Schnepp https://beestungmag.com/issue23/one-poem-by-e-b-schnepp-2/

[lifeinpoetry]

Remember, softness is a honey trap. I will tear you open, toxic the wound.

Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.

— E.B. Schnepp, from “You're not supposed to pet the dogs of Chernobyl,” published in Glass

[goreprofonde]

The boys are sure the girls have mistaken a wolf for a deer, or a man in a pelt. Deer don’t look at the world with the kind of hunger the girls describe, don’t come out of their meadow dripping blood and black eyed—but this one does and all the girls wonder aloud which one of  them will vanish one day because the Deer Lord ��found her on the far side of the glass after dark, coaxed her out to be his bride. The girls argue about who among them has the same taste for blood, try to forget how they too have cut their fingers, sucked their own blood, how they liked the taste.

- E.B. Schnepp, Deer Lord / Dear Lord. 

[weltenwellen]

E.B. Schnepp, from “You're not supposed to pet the dogs of Chernobyl”

[cherrytart-ffxiv]

Remember, softness is a honey trap. I will tear you open, toxic the wound.

Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.

— E.B. Schnepp, from “You’re not supposed to pet the dogs of Chernobyl,” published in Glass

[beestungmag]

"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" —E.B. Schnepp https://beestungmag.com/issue23/one-poem-by-e-b-schnepp-2/

[goreprofonde]

My father lost me to his hunger, to a line of does, button bucks left to hang from the neck, bleed from the belly until even the flies didn’t come anymore, even the flies knew

there was nothing vital here. He was hungry when he hunted them for their blood, their chase, but in the end he ate neither. In the end they were just a collection, a barricade

of wasted bodies blocking the water pump, attracting carrion crows, larger predators. The coy wolf, who came to see what to make of the newest monster, the one who named himself man, whose cubs shook

before all the flesh he didn’t consume. I was one of those cubs who went for water, found empty eyes accusing me of being unable to stomach their flesh, for my father who’d forgotten them. I couldn’t stop myself

from fingering the open gash where everything vital once had been and now was gone; intestines, heart, and sex, only to suck my fingers, tasting vitae as it chilled, turning from red to muddied brown. I couldn’t tell the difference

between my blood and theirs. I sought warmth, another body; following instinct I found myself curled inside, a hermit crab seeking a new home. I could expand easier here.

- E.B. Schnepp, Deer Lord / Dear Lord.

[weltenwellen]

I was one of them, a glass delusion, a swallowed glass piano. Afraid I could only shatter. Fractals under my skin itched my body translucent — the only cure was to set me on fire, show me I was never that kind of fragile;

E.B. Schnepp, from “You're not supposed to pet the dogs of Chernobyl”

[beestungmag]

Synthozoid neuro-transmitters and the steel in your bones. Beautiful things and the jealousy of hair. Bad bitches and NYC in 2010. A rare celestial spectacle. 🐝🐝🐝BEESTUNG #14 IS HERE🐝🐝🐝 Please read the latest hive brimming with honey w/: Umang Kalra, Briar Avery, Josephine Raye Kelly, E.B. Schnepp, Robin Arble, Goldie Peacock, and KB! http://beestungmag.com