I sell you a mirror, then call the cage a town. I count your applause, weigh your envy, and rent your wounds back to you. I dress hunger as connection; I make silence feel like exile. Leave me, and I whisper: no one will know you were alive.

Spelled forward, a clip. Backwards, is what sticks. Swap second and last, done too much makes you sick. Par ‘fore this is rooted, no woods clubs or chips. A chop for the strand, Or for men, the quick-fix.

What has four legs, eight legs, and a baton?

A big word for a decorative light; this fixture hangs at above head height. The second section is a noun in itself of a shop where to-go food lines the shelves. One more hint at this text's conclusion: the last two letters spell a noise of confusion.

They can be used to make jewelry, to make your bath more pleasant or, apocryphally, to buy an island.