if you're lost without               direction
i will be one of maybe             just a few        
i can be    your  own                compass                  
let me        encompass          you, when
direction       is unknown       my arms
are a                 place to                move,
come                    in enjoy the warmth
for i                           will always face
north                            straight true
                          
when your life is all recessions
and really all  depressions  too
let me be
your
compass
let me come encompass you
your Longitude and Latitude are
all thrown
in a muck
let me get you to a place,
where you wont feel so stuck


               The tropic of cancer
       Is not a place for one to linger
  if you need to             grab my hand
hold on like i'm               your stringer
   when you cant                
       gasp another
           breathe and    
               there   isn't
                   anything
                       you  can do
come, and          let me be your    
compass,                let me come  
  and                        encompass you
   every sigh                  you relieve      
     will help                    find you on
          the map,                 and every
             time you             squeeze
                my hands, will help
                      you to relax
                      

this world is                     full of                     problems, one
thing that im                for sure, so                lets forget all
  the complacent           and replace               them with
    something               more,      wipe           away your
       tears you              wont         need        them where  
          we are          going.             if your    lost ill be
           your paddles                         we can find the
            way together                          and just like
              a little                                   compass ill
              be here                                     forever

We’re in a young-love recession.
Gen Zers are slow to trust and averse to risk,
we have, it seems, a particular social nervousness
about interpersonal exchanges and the symbiosis of love.

So we resort to situationships (undefined relationships),
a stratagem for closeness, with zero commitment.

You can flirt; you can kiss; you can dance.
You can have a crush so big it blots out the stars
You can have transformative romantic encounters
you can care deeply and get hurt badly
you can, in fact, be absolutely wrecked by love
All without ever being in a relationship.

Thank God we’re only young once.
.
.
Songs for this:
Die With A Smile by Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars
Busy Woman by Sabrina Carpenter

.

In a deflationary period, prices will drop, corporate profits will dry up, wages will shrink, and all of this will reinforce the conditions of recessions. This happens for two reasons.

The first is that deflation keeps money on the sidelines as consumers wait for prices to fall further. This causes demand to shrink.

Deflation also adds to the real value of debt. This makes consumers and businesses less likely to take out loans and make big purchases to grow the U.S.'s consumption-driven economy.

And deflation runs counter to the goals of most of the world's central banks. Most notably, the U.S. Federal Reserve.

"Central bankers want inflation so they can pay back inflated debt in cheaper dollars," said Money Morning Capital Wave Strategist Shah Gilani.

But as we start 2015, deflation has arrived. Just check out these four deflation indicator

1. Falling crude oil prices
2. Falling commodity prices

     Heating oil futures are down 47%.
     Natural gas futures are down 36%.
     Copper futures are down 24%.
    Unleaded gas is down 23%.
    Soybean oil is down 15%.
    Wheat futures are down 11%.
    Corn futures are down 8%.

     The other two I read somewhere but they were cut off in this article.                              I will have to look.

He and I are the same:
umbrellas on sunny days, nothing in the rain and
shivering, slightly, in the warmth of sunny rooms.

His gentle face watches me walk through the door
and he paces the floor looking for a rhyme
that will hold me, neat like the sonnet he’s folding

                    my quiet dear, who walked in shadowed rooms
                    forever, noticed slightly dimming lights
                    and slighter changes in the weather, afternoons
                    with showers, clear and starry nights.

                    she smelled like air and puddles on the street
                    The rosy blush of clouds after a storm--
                    the pinkish blush of clouds after a storm--
                    the white and empty sky after a storm--

He admits defeat, and again we are the same,
afraid to speak each other’s names, waiting
for rhymes that would’t come, or never came.

But we could slink back into the mountainsides,
coastlines, deep tree recessions and rain-filled
nights, you and I.  Be brave and build a home,

a bed and a desk, fill up our books with poems
about the weather, the curves of our necks, lay
our words in the soil of the cold, careful northwest.

Digging underground
Found the diamond
Lost
In the crowd
Soundly speaking on the floor
Beaten badly wanting more
Bruises
Delirious about the uselessness
Of therapy and Sunday classes
By the masses
Childhood memories of running
On a beach
Sand between my toes
Mechanics strange and
Wired like gadgets
Tickets on trains to seafoam
Shores when
December comes
Beguiling smirk
Gazing like a toddler in wonder
At the said shutters of others
Maybe in split-screens with
Vivid color
The lackluster utterings die
At the sight
Cat-eyed and wild
Sighing like a child at coarse
Trivial arrivals of those
Suicidal yearnings resurfaced by
Days-break
Dysfigured in space as shapeless
As the speech that defined it
Butterfly darlings my
Coat flowing on the windless air
As a cocoon I'm enveloped in
Bed by many toppled books to
Beseech in disparity at all the
Shared pairs I erased
Like tickled bruises all sunken and
Hopeless in keeping up with
The moment
Gloves stitched
Kerosene patched dribbled
Against sunscreen
Tired-awake unable to sleep
Fascinated with miracles and the
Shadows in sight
Dismissed while in a crisis that
Felt steep in the night of one's
Soul
A tourniquet strapped around
My elbow in the cold snow
What's the criteria for the
Mentally unsuitable
We are preachers, poets, wives
With ribbons in our hair
Cradled in hate
Dissipated softly only to
Awaken with grim morning
After morning
Dark-days of chaos-tripping
Laid flat on my stomach-ache
Removed by time like an
Hourglass state of mind
Written on my *******
Glamorous sheen caught deep
Within the recessions of my
Brain
Unseen and I imagine
I am that firefly caught in the
Glass container
Blue as lapis lazuli
Blue as the livor mortis after
Suffocating

A highly respected economist
Was in search of recessions’ real Genesis.
      He said, “Grow the economy
      Right through Deuteronomy,
But Numbers is truly our Nemesis!”