The speaker draws a hard line between "we" and "the businessmen," and the poem grows out of that split. "We" seem to be outsiders, people who don't share the comfortable, respectable world of those who run the city. The speaker even doubts that any "sober citizens" honor the place at all, which turns the usual idea of civic pride upside down.
The third stanza piles up threats: "this war this plague / this enemy among us." With no punctuation, the words rush together, as if the list could go on. The tone feels uneasy and accusing. The last image is the strangest: "the infinite ink of a military / as dear as sleep." Judging by the imagery, the speaker may be pointing to endless official words, orders, or propaganda, and to how soothing or valuable they can feel to those who want to be left undisturbed. Sleep here suggests comfort, and maybe willful blindness. The mood is wary, bitter, and quietly angry.