A limb, a nose, a finger, a hose. A home in the attic for off-season clothes. A pillar from which a canopy grows. A boot not for walking, but holding cargo.

I capture the light, but I don’t understand, I gather the info, but I cannot command. I flip what's before me, when there is light, But it's not me who brings truth into sight.

I have three feet, but I can’t stand without leaning. I have no arms to hold me up. What am I?

With DUTY I sit, ready to apPEAse. When you come to see me you bend at the knees. I clean as I go though your nose will still wrinkle, but still I’ll support you while you do a riddle.

Once a doctor's life-saving invention, slasher villains now wield me with the opposite intention.