Cancel my subscription to the resurrection,
Send my credentials to the house of detention.

In these lines Morrison adopts the language of bureaucracy—“subscription,” “credentials,” “house of detention”—to speak about spiritual and existential refusal. “Resurrection” evokes religious redemption or the promise of renewal; to “cancel” it suggests rejecting consoling narratives of afterlife, salvation, or personal reinvention. The second line turns identity into paperwork that can be transferred to confinement, implying that modern institutions (law, psychiatry, prisons) regulate not only bodies but also the terms on which one is recognized as a person. The effect is a bleak, sardonic protest: rather than accept prescribed transcendence, the speaker anticipates being processed, detained, and defined by systems of control.