Don't judge its skin Lay it on its spine Wings spread out, flipping through See where it takes you

I ride in a shaky chariot with one bad wheel, while you wait in endless lines to strike an overpriced deal. Then comes the game when I get home, fridge Tetris played with milk and foam.

I hold your cards and cash with care, Protecting them from wear and tear. What am I?

From my bowl, I gift you food With my handle as your guide, I help you churn the restless My stem keeps the hand safe, or is a punishment for the wicked My flesh and bones are crafted with the finest ivory, rock, wood, or precious stones, You can even improvise my body I'm a unit, an instrument, a method of measurement I am one of your oldest tools And quietly now, I lay nested in the heart of your home

First three is a tiny insect All six letters are on top of a buck Counted as points, and double checked It could end up on your wall, if you have any luck.