Take word of caution and beware, The average, without the spread, Down wicked alley shall you lead. It stands not on its own two feet. Now averages do find their use: To prove the concept, simulate, Empirically contrast, debate, Subject your numbers to misuse. Yet nature heeds her own device, She opts for mischief, not smooth curves, She’s like a chef, all soaked in spice. For taste she mines: she tempers, stirs. Don’t vainly rationalize, Beware the itch for meaning. Flee. Inquire the following of yourself, To what serve averages to me? For mean performance do I aim? Massage the spikes, subdued by tension? Uphold I any such expectation, As light, bedazzlement, acclaim? Am I to undermine control? Harmonious notion, to forego? To scatter furiously, like dust? Like beastly winds, to rage and thrust? In Monty Carlo try my fate? To toss the die, in burning lust? To wager chips, like condemned souls, To plot the gradient of man’s bust? Height, weight, endurance: do I care, Those piercing eyes of ethereal glare, The well-toned rhythm in your chest, Should biometrics be your zest? Of any bearing be the time, Exhausted to produce bad rhyme, My sinful fancies to peruse, My sickly cravings to abuse? Care I for Rumour’s architect, Creator of my fantasy, The fool corrosive in my tract, The voice of wrath and gluttony? Have I the strings to grasp my seam, To burn the incest of my prudence, Engage the caprice with like ire, As I conceal deranged desire?