modern sonnet 1

I've been trying to meld modern sensibilities with the structure of the sonnet, with indifferent results. Here's one of them.

I love the dead - the dead so cold.
Oblivious to hurt and pain
The pageantry of grief unfolds
To people melting in the rain.
With sky that's grey (so like their skin)
Their hailstone teeth soon bite the dust
And tears that strongly smell of gin
Have turned their fingernails to rust.
The legs that could not bear their weight,
While backs that on the beaches bask,
Are shipping bodies home by freight
For faces hidden by a mask.
But arms dismembered from the soul
Are reaching, still, towards their goal.