Poetry. Memoir. Born from the isolation of rural Pennsylvania, a life of homeschooling, and physiological and physical domestic abuse, Kayleb Rae Candrilli's memoir in verse, WHAT RUNS OVER, demands attention. Unfurling and unrelenting in its delivery, Candrilli has painted the mountain in excruciating detail. They show readers a world of canned peaches, of Borax cured bear hides, of urine filled Gatorade bottles, of the syringe and all the syringe may carry. They show a world of violence and its many personas. WHAT RUNS OVER, too, is a story of rural queerness, of a transgender boy almost lost to the forest forever. When Roethke said 'energy is the soul of poetry, ' he might have been anticipating a book like WHAT RUNS OVER, which is so full of energy it practically vibrates in your hand. Here, Candrilli's speaker sticks their tongue 'into the heads / of venus fly traps just to feel the bite, ' then later, burns holy books in the backyard and rolls around in the ashes until they become 'a painted god.' This is the verve of an urgent new poetic voice announcing itself to the world. As Candrilli writes: 'This is what I look like / when I'm trying to save myself.'--Kaveh Akbar