If power lines could run across the moon--that's the phrase which is steering all of this as it's correct iambic pentameter (and a good line if I do say so myself).
The prostitutes and rosaries align
unhitched from their strings, rolling through the night
the silhouettes of cigarettes and gin
reflecting in the ugly neon light
The hounds of Baskerville run through the fog
he tightens the black tie around his neck
the lipstick on the collar of the dog
the hand around the fattened rooster's neck
Behind the tall Cathedrals peeking through
Forgiveness rushing like a waterfall
the stained glass windows streaming azure blue
and St. Therese is stoned among it all
The sliver of blue sky I dare to cut
Like Miro with scissors lying on the bed
To create beauty from oh, God knows what
(Not the best but there's some rhythm to certain lines)