Three short lines, each sounding like a saying or a boast, and together they sketch a speaker who answers to no one. The first line is playful and a little naughty: writing in the morning is treated as a kind of indulgence, even a corruption, as if the day should be spent on something more respectable. The speaker doesn't sound guilty about it, though. "Debauch" suggests they enjoy it.
The second line turns thinking into something you can skip. Instead of struggling over ideas, you could simply find a garden and let things grow around you. It reads as both a joke and a real preference for being in the world over fretting about it.
The last line is the oddest. The speaker imagines a flag, the sort of emblem a country or a rebel would carry, and puts on it the moon and money, "our two hips." That image seems to set dreaminess and practical need side by side, like the two halves of a body we move with. The mood is wry, relaxed, and a bit cheeky.