Rings that attatch to eachother look great. I ordered something, the deliverer's on their way...

You’ll find me in a ring and down the slopes, but not in the octagon.

Holding a door On top of some bread Try to get out of me Use me as spread

A bow but no arrow A string gone unplucked The devil lost me in Georgia I suppose it was bad luck

Pieces scattered, all around, like stars upon the ground. Gather each to build anew, a creation known to few.