The in-between times, the in-between toes, the mischievous sockets that alternate.

These undeveloped spaces, the in-between's, plunged inward at birth with a thought that they might live in the placenta forever. Who would have forgave their misfortune when the semis of civilization were already full of socks with expectations of five roots per foot. Meanwhile, back in the jug of amniotic fluid the unsprouted knobs fought for the positions of pillars; they gambled for odd numbered knuckles and scammed each other for nail spots. The unnamable gristle moved in frustration, like a naked figure trapped tightly in a white sheet heaving with breath amongst each limb to escape. A cut of linen was draped over and glued tightly around seeds of bone still susceptible to displacement and bartering. It was as if the toes were already but-wiggling, impatiently and inverted so the warfare happened under the covers. When it came time for choice and release, the landscapes of the feet settled their unfortunate battle according to the rules of the human form. Now when they gave their holding case a swift jab, the hidden, upside down arches could not touch the exterior lining; they stayed home. They were forced to serve as an opening, a distraction, a brief period of time before shaped and named purpose. With the rhythm decided, all of the stages were cleared to enact the presentation of toes and their in-betweens. In every theatre, all at once, an uncountable number of toes accompanied by an uncountable number of pauses broke through with: a-half-pulling-out and a-half-hugging-in; an oscillation of impatience and resistance. Timeless, incarcerated, misused, giant, leafy, colored; every variety of foot spilled out into the public eye. Audiences swooned in disbelief at the (rolling, structured, patterned) consistency. They were enamored and aroused: All of the socks they had brought to the performance would fit.